The Ones We Love
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has known Molly Hooper a lot longer than she's known him. An auto accident makes him question his choices and the secrets he's been keeping for nearly 25 years. Work is complete in 11 chapters (unless I add more). *complete*
1. Waiting

_This is sort of an AU. Well, not really. I've just created a history between Sherlock & Molly that doesn't exist, then worked it into the canon (I hope I got everything right). Huge thanks go to MizJoely for her beta work and MrsMCrieff for Brit picking. You women are wonderful! Lastly (even though he won't be reading this), a big thank you goes to Mr Lil. He helped me with a ton of medical terminology and research. I'm a lucky girl. He's handsome **and** smart_ ; _)_

 _In this story we'll have Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Romance and Family Dynamics. There'll be sadness, but happiness too. Hang in there. I promise a happy ending! It is complete, though I am touching it up as I post. The rating **will** likely change. _

_**Warnings:** Medical stuffs, parental loss (past) and talk of autopsies._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Waiting -**

The room was cold and quiet. And small, far too small, with its fading taupe walls and generic wall hangings. Sherlock wanted to leave and go have a cigarette but, of course, he couldn't leave- _wouldn't_ leave.

"Do you know how long I've known Molly, John?" he asked his friend, looking for something- anything to make the time go faster.

"No, actually, I don't. I always assumed that you two met at Barts," John said, putting down the fishing magazine he'd been thumbing through and giving Sherlock his full attention.

"Technically, yes. That's when we met, but _I've_ known her for far longer."

"How do you mean?"

"When I was fifteen I read in the local paper about a body that had been found in a culvert a few towns over. The death was ruled a suicide, but I knew instantly it was murder," Sherlock explained.

"You were fifteen and you figured that out from a newspaper article?"

"It was obvious, John. Anyway, I took the bus to, Reigate, the town where it had happened and found the victim's family. The woman was married, one daughter. Molly."

" _Jesus_."

"The husband was a mechanic, I checked him out first. I had to confirm my theory, of course. Then I found Molly. She was in a park, all alone. I'd never seen anyone look so sad in my whole life."

"Let's see, Molly's four years younger than you, so…"

"She was eleven the first time I saw Molly Hooper, sitting on a swing, crying by herself," he said, staring across the small space.

 _Sherlock lit a cigarette and watched the girl from a couple dozen yards away. She was clearly upset. By the dirt on her shoes and socks, he supposed that she'd been there for at least an hour, perhaps a little longer. Her mousy brown hair was greasy and unkempt; her face blotchy and red from crying._

 _He had spent just a few minutes observing her father, confirming that he had had nothing to do with the murder of his wife. No, her death was an unfortunate mistake._

 _Why he had needed to see the daughter, he didn't quite know. The chances that an eleven year old girl had anything to do with the woman's death were slim to none, especially considering his deductions. But he had sought her out nevertheless._

 _He was even more confused as to why he had stayed and watched her. He stayed for over an hour and watched the child cry in that small park. The girl moved from the swings when a group of older kids showed up. She walked slowly to a picnic table, crawled underneath it and laid on her side. It was shaded by several trees, tucked away from the main play park. Sherlock followed and watched. She fell asleep shortly after she lay down and Sherlock sat on the ground, keeping his silent vigil._

 _About a half hour later, the girl woke, banging her head on the table and looking around startled. When she got up, dusting herself off, Sherlock followed at a safe distance as she made her way home. Once safely inside her modest house, he turned and walked back to the bus stop, wondering what was so intriguing about the small girl and why she'd made him feel so sad._

"You said you solved it," John said, breaking Sherlock from his memory.

"What?"

"Who killed Molly's mother?"

"Oh, yes, it was a mob hit. Unfortunately, Molly's mother looked remarkably like a very bad man's wife. They also shopped at the same market."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" John gasped. "What did you do?"

"Phoned Mycroft. He contacted the local PD. Claimed an unnamed informant as the source to reopen the investigation. He also relocated Molly and her father, just in case."

"And then you just happened on her in Barts all those years later?"

"Well, yes and no."

"Elaborate…"

"I checked up on her... from time to time." _That's putting it mildly._ When he said it out loud it sounded rather stalkerish.

"What do you mean you checked up on her?"

"I just wanted to make sure they were all right. Mycroft gave me their new address and I'd go 'round just to make sure that everything was okay. Sometimes he'd… tell me what was going on in their lives."

"For how long?"

"On and off for a while," Sherlock answered vaguely. "I lost track of her when I started using heavily. But then Mycroft informed me of her father's illness. I watched her bury him just after she started university. She looked exactly like the sad little girl I saw in the park that day."

There was a long pause before John spoke again. "Then… Barts."

"Indeed. You can imagine my surprise." _Fucking Mycroft!_

"You cared for her even before you knew her, Sherlock." His friend paused, obviously thinking about all their encounters with Molly Hooper. "But there's something I don't understand. When we first met you treated her horribly."

"I did."

"Why?"

Sherlock sighed. _Well, I started this, I suppose._ "She'd only just been hired the month before you showed up with Mike. I was still dealing with the fact that this girl - because the last time I'd seen her she'd just been a girl, maybe eighteen or so - was suddenly a woman and a doctor and…"

John smirked. "You _liked_ her."

"Shut up, John," Sherlock growled as he stood. "How long do these sort of procedures usually take, anyway?"

"It really depends, Sherlock. Mostly on how much swelling they're dealing with."

"She's not going to…"

"No, of course not. She'll be fine. I'm actually more concerned about her hand. Most of the bones were crushed. They'll have to operate. Pins and what not."

"As long as she lives, we can work with that."

After another short pause John said, "So, I assume you never told her."

"Why would you assume that?"

"Because it's something you'd do."

"No, I didn't," Sherlock admitted.

"Why?"

"I don't know," he said, sounding defeated even to himself. He had tried many, many times to tell Molly what he had done. But it just never came out. Then it became this huge... thing. Impossible to explain.

"You always know, Sherlock."

"Not this time."

"And," John said. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I have absolutely no idea, John."

The older man stood. "Look, I'd like to stay, but I've got to get Rosie from the sitter. Will you be all right here alone?"

"I'll be fine. They'll let me see her, won't they?"

"You're her emergency contact and she has no living family. They won't really have a choice," John answered. "Keep me updated?"

"Of course," Sherlock answered.

* * *

A little more than an hour later, a doctor came into the private waiting room. Sherlock immediately stood up.

"Mr. Holmes?" the man said. "I'm Dr. Masterson. I was the lead neurosurgeon on Dr. Hooper's procedure."

"Yes?"

"I understand that you're Dr. Hooper's… well, I'm not sure what you are to the patient."

Sherlock paused, unsure how to answer the question himself for a millisecond. "Molly's my friend."

"Of course. Please sit," Dr. Masterson motioned to the chair that Sherlock had just vacated. After they'd both sat down, the doctor spoke again. "We've significantly reduced the swelling, but we left the tube in to let it continue draining. She's doing much better."

"How did you reduce the swelling?"

"Are you familiar with Ventriculostomy?"

Sherlock winced. "Let's pretend that I'm not."

"We drilled a small hole in, Molly's skull. Inserted a tube and drained the Cerebrospinal fluid," he explained.

"There are medications that are just as effective, correct?"

"Yes. But in Molly's case, due to the amount of trauma she experienced in the crash, we needed to remove the fluid quickly to avoid any further damage."

"Brain damage?"

"Correct. But we are confident that we've avoided that with the preemptive surgery. She's actually doing quite well and we're going to attempt to wake her tomorrow afternoon. At that point we'll be able to assess the damage, if there is any."

"I want to stay with her," Sherlock said.

"She's in a medical coma, Mr. Holmes. She won't wake up until we allow it and even then it might take some time."

"I'll not leave her alone. Are you aware who my brother is, Dr. Masterson?" he asked, sounding mildly threatening.

"Indeed. I wasn't going to deny you. Just making a suggestion that you go home and get some rest. Molly has a long road ahead of her."

"May I see her?"

"She's in recovery now, but will be moved to a private room within the next hour. I'll make sure there's a comfortable chair for you. I believe you'll need it."

* * *

Sherlock sat in the chair, staring at the woman in the bed. He didn't recognise her. She looked nothing like his Molly. This woman was battered and bruised. She had a tube in her mouth, one coming out of her skull and several attached to her left arm. Her right hand was wrapped in multiple layers of bandages and a stabilizing splint. The orthopedist wouldn't be in to assess it until she woke from the coma. Both of Molly's eyes were black and blue, her nose was broken. A bloody line severed the tender flesh of her bottom lip.

She lay almost completely motionless. The only movement was the rise and fall of her chest and that was caused by the ventilator tube down her throat. He wanted to rip it out, close his mouth around hers, push his own breath down her lungs and breathe for her.

Sherlock had witnessed so many of Molly's life changing moments, usually from afar, but this was like an out of body experience.

She had almost died.

He had almost lost her.

This woman who had been part of his life since he was a teen had nearly been taken away from him before he could say all those things that had gone unsaid for years. She didn't know the effect that her eleven year old self had had on him. She didn't know that he had watched her, making sure she was safe. She didn't know that she'd been in the back of his mind, even when he was at the height of his addiction, wondering if she was happy, if she was in love, if she was thriving at university. Molly Hooper had no idea that she had taken his breath away when he saw her in St. Barts that first day. That she had made him a nervous wreck and that he decided then and there to keep her at a safe distance and never tell her the truth.

The unthinkable happened shortly thereafter. Although Sherlock could deal with his own obsession by internalising his feelings, Molly, he realised, was instantly attracted to him. It drove him mad.

In the years between drugs and settling into a life of solving crimes, Sherlock had put a cap on all things sexual, all things of an interpersonal nature. His obsessive nature wouldn't allow for causal relationships. John Watson was a bit of an eye opener, but they worked well together, feeding off each other's needs. The former army doctor needed the rush of danger, and Sherlock needed a partner in crime, so to speak. That and he loved to show off in front of an audience. John was a good fit for him, he hadn't had a real friend for… well, ever and suddenly he needed one.

But Molly, where did Molly Hooper fit into his new life? She was a very competent pathologist. This didn't surprise him in the least, he had always known she would be successful in anything she attempted. And now he had the opportunity to watch her success up close, no longer relegated to the shadows. That didn't mean he could let her in, however. So he kept his distance emotionally.

Some of the time, of course, he didn't even realise he was being unkind; he was simply being himself. His offhanded comments about her appearance? His dismissal of her invitation to coffee? He really had just screwed up there. But Jim from IT? The Christmas party? Pure and unadulterated jealousy. He could admit that to himself now, if not at the time.

She had been instrumental in his Fall. Molly Hooper was his rock that night and he carried that knowledge for two years whilst he slowly worked on dismantling Moriarty's network. In the darkest hours, when he felt like giving up, when he felt so completely and totally alone and nearly defeated, he'd call up the memory of her lovely face the night he asked her for help. Her watery eyes, her trembling lips… but above all, her sheer determination when she spoke the words, " _What do you need?_ ". He had barely been able to speak his reply. Sherlock needed Molly, because he had _always_ needed her, and never more than on the day he was to die.

Coming back and finding her happily engaged to some random bloke put a pit in his stomach that stayed there for months. In the end, however, Tom proved to be a very good distraction when Magnuson came sniffing around. Sherlock was certain that his secret would come out during that whole debacle because there could be no greater _pressure point_ than Molly Hooper. But once again, she was overlooked. Thank God. _Or should I be thanking someone else?_

Having his feelings put on display at Sherrinford had nearly broken him completely. _That was_ why he'd destroyed the coffin. Years of pent up frustration - of hiding his emotions, his feelings - came out in the form of rage. John thought it was all about making Molly say those words, no doubt. But it was so much more than that. Mycroft knew, of course. His brother was well aware of his near lifelong obsession with the woman. He also knew, though they'd never spoke of it, that Sherlock indeed loved her and had for a while.

Sherlock's life was one adventure after another. Sometimes endangering those around him, even Molly, as his sister had proven just a few months ago. But a car accident proved to Sherlock that he could just as easily lose her to something as mundane as a lorry driver running a red light.

Two weeks after Sherrinford, Sherlock had sat Molly down and explained everything that happened that day. He never denied that he meant those words; he simply let her draw her own conclusions. The coward's way out.

A lie by omission.

But now… He was tired of fighting it.

He was tired of pretending.

He was tired of lying.

When his Molly woke up, he'd tell her everything. He'd tell her about her mother, about keeping watch over her, about purposely pushing her away. He would also tell her that he loved her and hope that she could find it in her heart to forgive him.

" _Please forgive me,_ " he whispered to the sleeping woman.

* * *

 _Okay, there's chapter one. Please let me know what you think. I know I've been awful about responding to reviews lately. I have no excuse other than being a jerk! I am very sorry. I'll try to get back to all of you. Thank you so much for reading. ~Lil~_


	2. Awake

_Here's chapter two! Thank you all for your support! I really appreciate it. I also appreciate MrsMCrieff for her laborious Brit work on this chapter, bless her heart! And, of course, MizJoely for betaing this one three times because I'm a pain in the tuchus_ **; )**

 _I still own nothing, oddly enough. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - Awake -**

They were attempting to wake her up, but he was standing in the hall, useless and frustrated, whilst a horde of doctors and nurses assessed Molly's health. Sherlock was tired, more emotionally than physically, though he hadn't slept, just watched Molly and the machines reading her vitals all night.

He paced the corridor, never straying too far from her room in case someone came to get him and let him know it was okay to see her again, that she was awake.

Spending the night staring at the broken woman and thinking about all of his regrets had done Sherlock no favours. He was a ball of nervous energy. He had a million questions and no answers whatsoever. Would she be okay? Was there brain damage? What about her hand? Would Molly Hooper ever be able to perform an autopsy again? If not, she'd be devastated, without a question. And what about _them…_ could there be a _them_ after he told her all the truths he'd kept so expertly hidden for so many years? If she told him no, he could handle that, he could continue on as her friend, caring about her, watching over her, loving her as he always had. But if she wanted nothing to do with him… where would he go from there?

The idea that Molly Hooper was 'his' had always been this beautiful fantasy that kept him going at his darkest times. Oh, he had fantasies of a sexual nature, of course, but more than that he imagined a life together, _their_ life...

 _Molly coming home from a long day at Barts just as Sherlock finished up a case (a nine). They'd eat take-away on the settee and talk about their respective days. After they finished eating, his Molly would turn and look at him with warm brown eyes and tell him that she loved him and had missed him. Then Sherlock would take her to bed, rubbing down her sore muscles before making love to her for hours._

Sometimes the scenario included white dresses and flowers, the exchange of promises and rings.

Sometimes she was taking care of him. Sometimes he was taking care of her.

Sometimes they were simply holding each other.

When things were the darkest, Molly held him as he cried. She never judged his tears.

One of his favorites was of his Molly with a swollen belly, lovely and glowing.

Yes, Sherlock had all the same ridiculous romantic notions that he often scoffed at in others. And he would openly mock them any chance he got. But when alone he was free to imagine a different life, a life with her.

Was that life completely out of his reach? Would the fantasy end the moment he spoke the truth?

Sherlock sighed, wondering what was taking so long. He stopped pacing and sat down on a hard plastic chair. _When did things get so complicated?_ he wondered. A memory flashed in his mind, pulling into the past…

 _His first few years at uni had been miserable for Sherlock, even though he had advanced quickly. No one seemed to like the know-it-all, show-off, rich kid. It wasn't surprising; boarding school hadn't been much different. His classes were boring, his roommates were all idiots (he'd had five of them) and his professors… imbeciles! He had been experimenting with cocaine here and there, telling himself it was mildly entertaining to track its effects on his class work. But even that was losing its appeal and he was considering trying other drugs._

 _Halfway through his first year of post grad work he just wanted a break, so he left and went to Bracknell. He did this occasionally; made a sojourn to see her, telling himself he needed to make sure Mycroft was keeping up his end of the bargain. Sherlock had become quite good at lying to himself. This time, however, he wasn't even pretending._

 _As he waited in front of Edgbarrow School for Molly to leave for the day, he watched the other students. They all looked so happy. He couldn't recall ever feeling quite so carefree as they seemed. It was the cost of genius, his mother had told him. Sometimes he wondered if the cost was too high._

 _Was there a happy medium? Molly, for instance, she was incredibly smart but seemed content, not restless with life like he felt most of the time. He had last seen her the summer before, helping her father in his shop. She was all smiles and laughter as she rang up customers. A brilliant scientific mind, perfectly happy to chat with lorry drivers and housewives about the cost of petrol or the state of Parlament._

 _She was like an addiction. He just needed a hit. One glimpse of her smiling face would set him straight for a few months._

 _The first time he sought her out after her relocation, he told himself it was to make she that she and her father were safe, but that was a lie. He wanted to see if she was happy, if she had recovered at all from her mother's death._

 _She had. Then he saw her smile._

 _The image of a happy little girl had replaced that of the sad crying child in the park and everything changed once again. Suddenly Sherlock wanted to know more about Molly Hooper. He wanted to know how someone could go from utter devastation to exuberance in just a couple of months. That's when his obsession had started in earnest._

 _Suddenly she appeared. Sherlock watched as the fifteen year old came out of the building, a backpack over her shoulder and an armload of books clutched to her chest. She was alone, not walking with a group like many of the other students. Her head was hung low; she was clearly troubled._

 _She turned left and headed towards her father's shop, not her house, so Sherlock followed. He had just planned to have a look, just a quick fix of her smile, but having seen her unsettled features he realised he couldn't leave until he knew what was bothering her._

 _Molly deposited her bag and books behind the counter then went to the garage to find her dad. Sherlock tucked himself behind the skip in the back of the building near an opened window._

" _Daddy, where are you?" Sherlock heard her say._

" _Over here, Princess," her father called out._

" _Hey!"_

" _Now what's with this face you're wearin'?"_

 _Sherlock heard Molly mumble something in response, but couldn't make out what she said._

" _Oh, Molly luv, who cares what they think?"_

"Everyone _!" she said with a sob._

" _They're jealous, Princess. You're smarter than the lot of them and they know it!"_

" _He called me a skinny arsed swot!"_

 _Her father chuckled._

" _Oh, now_ you're _laughing at me!"_

" _No, I'm not, it's just always funny when you curse. Like seeing a nun in a bikini."_

"Daddy _!" she whined, then laughed._

" _Listen to me Molly, these are small people with small minds. You'll get through this and move on to bigger and better things. They, on the other hand, will lead miserable, uninteresting lives. And one day, when you're a famous scientist, they'll look up to_ you _. Not to mention you won't be skinny forever, luv. Your mother was a late-bloomer, too. You'll get your boobies soon."_

" _God, Dad!" Molly sounded mortified. Sherlock almost couldn't contain his laughter. "Don't say things like that!"_

" _I have two roles to fill, Molly. I can't be squeamish about this stuff."_

" _Well, I hope you don't mind if I am!?" she replied. "But I do feel a little better. I'm going home before you embarrass me more than you already have! You want spaghetti for dinner?"_

" _That sounds good."_

 _Sherlock then heard what he assumed was Molly kissing her father goodbye, and he tried to recall the last time he'd been physically affectionate with either of his parents. It had been… maybe when he was five or six?_

 _He watched as she left the shop, turning right onto Park Road and heading home. As she disappeared into the distance, he decided not to follow. Every time he did this, observed Molly Hooper, he felt an odd mixture of fulfillment and sense of wrongness. It didn't matter; he was a sociopath, he didn't have to care if he was intruding on her life and or invading her privacy._

 _Yes, lying to himself had become second nature to the young man._

* * *

He had been waiting for nearly an hour when he heard the familiar sound of expensive Italian loafers on industrial flooring. Resting his head on the wall, he waited for the inevitable.

"You're going to tell her, aren't you?" his brother said without preamble.

"Good afternoon, Mycroft," Sherlock said in response, keeping his head facing forward.

"All these years, after everything that's happened, and _now_ you choose to tell her about her mother?"

He looked at the older man. "Why do you care?"

"Because it could spell disaster, of course. I'm not sure why she needs to know."

"Oh, yes. Keeping secrets worked so well for you. Tell me, have Mummy and Dad spoken to you with any civility recently?" Sherlock asked with a sneer.

"I did what I thought was best at the time, Sherlock, you know that and they'll understand that too, eventually," Mycroft said defensively.

"And I'll decide what's best as far as Molly's concerned, thank you for your advice, brother dear. But when it comes to matters of the heart, you are not my first choice of confidant."

"After all this time, you're actually going to tell her how you feel? To what end?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock stepped closer, getting in his brother's face. "You know very well to what end. I'll beg her forgiveness and if she'll have me…"

"I should have put an end to this obsession years ago. Because that's what this is, Sherlock. It's an obsession. I should never have encouraged you."

Mycroft was fighting this too hard; something else was going on. "Oh, but you did, you encouraged me and manipulated me. Dangling Molly Hooper in front of me like a carrot on a string. It drives you crazy that you can't use her against me anymore, doesn't it?" Sherlock asked, even though it felt like he was _still_ being manipulated.

"You're the same compulsive fifteen year old boy you were the first time you saw her."

Sherlock smiled, knowing he had his brother on that one. "I'm not the same person, Mycroft. Nowhere close. Hell, I'm not the same person I was a year ago. A year ago I wasn't a godfather. A year ago Mary Watson was alive. A year ago I didn't have a sister. A year ago I didn't know about Victor." He took a deep breath. "I'm not even the same person I was yesterday, because yesterday Molly Hooper almost died. Help or not. Be my brother or be my enemy."

"I'm not your enemy, Sherlock, I never have been."

"Then prove it."

Just then the door to Molly's room opened and a nurse stepped out. "Mr. Holmes."

Both Mycroft and Sherlock said, "Yes?"

* * *

She was still asleep. Every couple of minutes her eyes would flutter and Sherlock hoped they'd open. The ventilator tube was gone and she was breathing on her own. They had also removed the drainage tube from her head.

She'd moan, she'd twitch but she wouldn't wake up.

The doctor said she was making progress and that the moaning and twitching was a good sign. Sherlock just wanted her to wake up and start complaining about how cold it was (because it was freezing in her room). Molly didn't like being cold.

At 5.56pm John walked in carrying two coffees. "How is she? Any change?"

"Not really," Sherlock said, taking one of them from him. "She's moving around a bit. "It's just been a little over an hour though. They said it might take some time."

"I can't stay long, but I wanted to check on her." John gave Molly an appraising look. "The swelling's better around her eyes and nose today."

"A bit, yes," Sherlock agreed.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you staying here again tonight?" John asked.

"Yes."

"No offense, Sherlock, but you look like shit on a stick."

Sherlock ignored the comment in favour of the coffee; it was much better than the swill he'd been drinking from the machine down the hall.

"Could she experience memory loss?" he asked John after a few moments of silence.

"It's possible. But total memory loss is unlikely. What's more likely is difficulty with manual dexterity and momentary lapses in memory. Forgetting what she is saying in the middle of a conversation, for instance."

"You've dealt with this before?"

"Professionally? No. My dad had a brain bleed, it's somewhat similar," John explained.

"Did he ever recover?"

"Not completely. But he was 71 when it happened and had had a stroke previously."

Sherlock nodded, looking at his friend wearily.

"It's not what killed him, Sherlock. Cancer got him in the end. Prostate."

Sherlock hid his grin by taking a drink of coffee.

"Okay," John said with a smile. "I just realised what I said. Go ahead and laugh."

After a few moments of tension relieving laughter, the men looked at Molly.

"She's gonna be fine, Sherlock."

"How do you know that?" the detective asked.

"Because she has to be. I can't take anymore," John said sounding as tired as Sherlock felt. "Besides, Rosie needs her Aunt Molly."

"We all need her."

"No doubt."

Twenty minutes after John left, Molly's eyes fluttered open for the first time. Sherlock knew he had to call her nurse, but he did so with some reluctance. He wanted to be the first person she saw. After hitting the call button, he took her hand. "Molly, can you hear me?"

She moaned in return.

"Molly, I'm here. It's Sherlock, do you know me?" He didn't like the waver in his own voice.

Just then her door opened and two nurses came in; one male one female. "Mr. Holmes, we need to take a look at Molly."

"Should I go?" he asked.

"Oh no, you stay right where you are," the female nurse answered. "She'll need a familiar face and I get the feeling she'll want to see yours." She turned to the male nurse. "Did you page Dr. Walsh?"

"No, I paged Dr. Masterson."

"He's not on call," she commented as she pushed buttons on Molly's monitor.

"I had… special instructions," the man cut his eyes up at Sherlock.

"From who?" Sherlock asked.

"Your brother," the nurse answered. "What does he do, exactly?"

"Interferes, mostly," Sherlock said, focusing his attention back on Molly. Her eyes were opened but unfocused.

The female nurse said, "Talk to her, Mr. Holmes. She needs to hear your voice. And I'm Wanda, by the way."

He didn't like the idea of talking to Molly in front of strangers, however, he'd do anything to help wake her up. "Molly, look at me." Her head wobbled in his general direction, but she was still not focused on him. "Molly, it's Sherlock. Can you hear me?"

She finally turned and looked him in the eyes. "Shhhh…" she tried to speak.

"Hey, beautiful." He couldn't help but smile. "You scared us. You're going to be okay though." He stroked her forehead and she closed her eyes for a moment. Afraid that she was going under again, Sherlock looked up at Wanda.

"She's fine. It takes a little time. Keep touching her."

When he looked back down her eyes were opened again. "Huurrt," she managed this time.

Once again, Sherlock looked at the nurse. "I'll increase her morphine."

"Did you hear that, Molly? You're getting the good stuff. I'm so jealous," he said and watched as a tiny smile formed on her damaged lips.

"You've got this, Wanda, I've got another call light," the male nurse said as he left the room.

"Her lips are dry. Here." Wanda handed Sherlock a cup of water and a mouth swab, which was basically a sponge on a stick. "Rub it on her lips and she can suck on it if she wants, but no water until the doctor approves it."

He followed her instructions. Molly seemed to appreciate it, humming as he put the sponge inside her mouth.

"See, she's thirsty. Poor dear's been through hell."

"When will the doctor be here?" he asked as he rewetted the sponge.

"Hard to tell." She was bent down looking at Molly's catheter bag. "Like I said he wasn't on call. I'm surprised he's coming in at all." Standing back up, she removed her gloves and put her hands in her pockets. "I know you. You're that detective bloke."

"I am."

"And Molly here, what's she to you?"

He focused on his task as he searched for an answer. After several seconds he finally said, "She's my Molly."

"Then she's a lucky girl," Wanda said with a knowing smile.

" _I'm the lucky one_ ," he whispered.

* * *

After Dr. Masterson's assessment, he joined Sherlock in the hall and motioned for him to sit. "Molly's doing well, Mr. Holmes. Better than we could have hoped."

"She was having problems speaking when I was with her."

"It's to be expected; the accident was less than twenty-four hours ago. She was able to tell me how she felt and answer a few other questions whilst we were working with her. I can't say for certain, but I believe there will be no brain damage."

Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief.

"An orthopedic surgeon will be in tomorrow to look at her hand." The doctor stood. "Are you staying again?"

"Yes."

"You need some actual rest."

"What should I expect from her?" Sherlock asked, ignoring his comment.

The doctor sighed. "She'll be in and out. Very sleepy and probably in some pain. Her head hurts, so does her hand. If the papers are to believed, you've been in a similar position a couple of times. If she needs help with the morphine machine…"

"I'm well acquainted with it."

"Don't be afraid to call a nurse, they'll be checking on her frequently." He paused. "She's been through a lot, Mr. Holmes. I wouldn't anticipate much change. It may be just like last night."

It _wasn't_ like the night before. Molly moaned in her sleep; she was clearly in pain. She'd only been awake for a few minutes at a time, mostly asking for a drink of water. Sherlock had just dozed off in the 'comfortable' chair when he heard her speak his name sometime around 1am.

He sat up, taking her hand. "I'm here, Molly."

" _Water_?" she whispered.

The doctor had approved water and juice; so far she'd only had sips of ice water. He put the straw to her lips and she sipped greedily, a bit of water spilling down her chin. He dabbed it off with his shirt cuff. When she'd had her fill, Sherlock put the cup away and carefully stroked her forehead, it seemed to calm her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, leaning over her.

"Better, I think." It was her first full, clear sentence. Though she didn't sound like herself, she did sound coherent. "Foggy."

"Do you need anything?"

"Why… are you…" She squinted. "Why are you here?"

"They called me, Molly. I'm your emergency contact."

Looking around the room, she asked, "Where's dad?"

 _What_? "Molly?"

She returned her focus to Sherlock. "Is daddy here? Did you tell him?"

"No, Molly. Your father doesn't..."

"Good." She sighed. "He's sick, you know."

"Yes... sick." Sherlock wondered if he should get the nurse or if Molly was just confused after sleeping most of the day. Or perhaps it was the morphine. "Do you remember what happened?"

"A lorry."

"Yes, you were in a cab…"

"My head hurts." She looked down at her right hand. "Shit, how am I supposed to take notes like this? Maybe I can get a copy of Henry's."

"Molly, you're not in…" He stopped himself. "Do you know who I am?"

Looking up, she smiled sleepily at him. "Of course I do." She raised her left hand and touched his cheek. "You're Sherlock, my guardian angel. You're always here. But usually just in my dreams." Then her eyes drifted shut once again.

"Molly..." he said, but it was no good. She was asleep.

* * *

 _Ack! More to come! Feed my muse, my lovely friends! Thanks for reading! ~Lil~_


	3. Impatience

_Thank you all for reading my little story and for all the reviews! You're keeping me inspired. Big thanks, once again, to MizJoley and MrsMCrieff for their continued help. Love these girls!_

 _This one has **drug use** and feels. And **medical stuff** , but nothing gross._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - Impatience -**

By morning Sherlock had driven himself half mad going over the possible causes of Molly's confusion. He informed the overnight nurse, a forty-nine year old recent divorcee with an online gambling addiction. She just made a note and said she'd pass it on. It didn't instill him with a sense of confidence.

He had sent John a dozen text messages and received a few vague responses in return, informing him that it was too early to tell. His best friend said he'd be in later that day to see for himself.

He had also, of course, considered her 'guardian angel' comment. Had she somehow known that he'd been there all those years? That was doubtful; he had been careful. The comment was most likely part of her general confusion. Perhaps the whole episode had been a hallucination; morphine was good for that, Sherlock knew that first hand. Besides, he wasn't an angel, far from it. Most of the time he felt like a monster.

She had woken up a few more times, asking for water then drifting back off, but never saying more than a couple of words. He had no idea if she knew the year or who he was.

At 8.15 am Dr. Masterson came in. "How's she doing today?"

"She woke up last night and didn't seem to know what year it was," Sherlock blurted out as he stood. "She thought her father was still alive and that she was in university."

He nodded as Sherlock spoke. "That's not unusual. She's heavily medicated and her brain is recovering. Many patients say strange things shortly after waking up, especially with narcotics in their system. Once we can back off the meds we'll know more," he said whilst taking a pen light out of his pocket. As he opened one of her eyes and shined the light in it, she groaned, trying to push him away. The doctor just laughed and continued his examination. "Morning, Molly."

"Hullo," she said with a wince.

"Sorry about that. How are you feeling?"

"Hungry. And I feel like I was run over by a train," she mumbled gruffly but coherently.

"It was a lorry, dear. But you are doing much better today. Has Mr. Holmes explained what we did?"

"No, not yet."

"You had some swelling on your brain, so we did a Ventriculostomy." Sherlock was glad that the doctor wasn't speaking down to her.

Her left hand immediately went to her head, feeling around for, he assumed, her missing hair. Molly's right hand was immobile, strapped to her chest in a sling. _That's got to be a good sign_. Her mind had immediately recognised the procedure by name.

The doctor gently moved her hand. "We only shaved about an inch and a half of hair. It's bandaged right now."

She sighed and nodded.

"It went beautifully, Molly. We removed the tube yesterday when we took you off of sedation and the ventilator. Any questions so far?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay, let's check you out." Holding up a finger he said, "Now follow the tip." Then began moving it about. She did as instructed, though she seemed annoyed. "Good." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small tube, uncapped it and held it under Molly's nose. "What do you smell?"

"Menthol?" she replied.

Dr. Masterson nodded. "Can you whistle, Molly?"

She did, although it was a poor attempt with her split lip.

"And give us a big smile."

Looking to Sherlock for a millisecond, Molly smiled, then brought her hand up to her mouth. "Okay, that hurt." She looked at her fingers. "Can you get me a tissue, Sherlock? I'm bleeding."

"Sorry about that," the doctor said. "Just a couple more things."

Sherlock handed her a tissue while the doctor tested her hearing then palpitated the muscles around her neck and jaw.

"Almost done. Hold up your left hand." She did and Sherlock noticed that she was steady as ever. "Good, that's very good," Dr. Masterson said as he held out his hand to her. "Now, grip me as tight as you can." Sherlock watched as Molly tried to squeeze the doctor's hand off. "You're very strong, Doctor."

"I'm a pathologist. Don't be fooled by my size," she replied with a smirk.

 _Thank God,_ Sherlock thought. _She remembers_.

"Indeed. Can you tell me what day of the week it is?"

"Ah, no. But the last day I remember is Thursday."

"That's excellent, actually. And your full name?"

Sherlock smiled before Molly even spoke.

She clenched her teeth. "Margaret _Malvolia_ Hooper- shut up, Sherlock!"

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it!"

The doctor laughed. "All right, you two. I'll order you some food, something light. Scrambled eggs sound okay?"

"I'd eat a raw egg shell and all right now," she told him.

"That's a good sign. I want you to have another CT scan today, but I'm not sure when that will be scheduled." He cut his eyes to Sherlock for a second. "See if you can talk him into going home and getting some rest. He hasn't left since you were brought in," the doctor said as he opened the door.

Molly stared at Sherlock for several seconds. Finally, he asked, "What?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

"You asked me that last night."

"I don't remember asking you anything," she said. "Can you get someone to help me sit up a little?"

Unable to move for a moment, he said, "It's good to hear you sound like yourself again."

"How did I sound before?"

Waving off her question, he pushed the button to adjust her bed. "Better?"

"I need to be scooted up… a bit."

"I'll help you. You're tiny."

"But strong, don't forget strong."

"How could I?" He put his arms around her middle and carefully moved her into a more upright position.

"You probably weren't supposed to do that, you know, hospital regulations and whatnot."

He smirked. "Ask me if I care."

"I don't have to, I know how you feel about rules. But you never answered my question."

He huffed and sat back down, he had no choice he was about to pass out. "I'm your emergency contact, Molly. I was… contacted."

"Okay, why are you _still_ here?"

"Where else would I be?" he asked.

"On a case, at your flat, St. Barts, pissing your brother off? I can think of any number of places," she said.

"I _want_ to be here, Molly," he said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Is that good enough?"

She looked away. "How can I be tired when all I've done is sleep for…" Turning back to him she asked, "How long have I been here?"

"A day and a half, just about."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"Nothing like you were. The cab was hit on the passenger side, where you were sitting; the driver only sustained cuts and bruises. The lorry driver's fine, though shaken up." He studied her carefully, considering asking her why she had left work early and why she had taken a cab, which she rarely did, but decided against it. He'd ask about that later or find out for himself.

"I assume you haven't slept."

"I'm fine."

"No! You're infuriating!" she grumbled. "Go home, Sherlock, get some rest! I'm going to eat bland hospital eggs then go back to sleep. You don't need to be here."

Molly had, evidently, woken up as a grumpier version of herself. Sherlock couldn't stop smiling and didn't want to miss a minute of it. "I think I'll stay, actually." He wasn't surprised by her poor attitude. He'd seen her sick before; she was a horrible patient.

"Stubborn git," she grumbled.

They sat in silence until Wanda walked in followed by a nursing assistant, each of them carrying a tray of food. "Dr. Masterson said he'd only let you stay if you cleaned your plate. Do I need to stick around and watch?" the nurse asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sherlock wondered for a moment if she was distantly related to him; she reminded him a bit too much of his mother, only nicer. Well, marginally nicer. "I'll eat, Wanda. But I want to go on record saying that Dr. Masterson isn't my doctor or a nutritionist. If I ever need my brain looked at, I'll be sure to keep him in mind."

"Now would be a good time," Molly commented, then turned to Wanda. "Is there an open MRI machine?"

Wanda chuckled as she turned to leave throwing, "I mean everything, Holmes," over her shoulder.

"I like her," Molly said before scooping up a fork full of eggs. She was having a little trouble trying to do it left handed, but Sherlock just watched with an amused smile. When she noticed, she rolled her eyes. "Care to make a comment?"

"No, not at all." He went back to his tray, pushing around the tasteless eggs, trying to make it seem like he'd eaten more than he had. _I wonder what Mrs. Hudson made for breakfast?_

Once Molly had eaten all she could, which wasn't much as it turned out, Wanda came back and retrieved the trays, bitching about how little Sherlock had consumed and praising Molly. The woman was clearly biased.

"Getting tired?" Sherlock asked as he lowered Molly's bed.

"Why was it so hard just to eat a few eggs and drink some weak tea? I'm exhausted."

"Because you just had the hell knocked out of you," he answered.

Molly reached for his hand, gripping it tightly. "Thank you, Sherlock."

"For what?"

"Watching over me," she answered as her eyes slipped closed.

He lowered his head until his lips met Molly temple. "Always," he whispered back to the sleeping woman.

* * *

Sherlock managed almost an hour of sleep before he was woken up by an obnoxious orthopedic surgeon named Barwick. He instantly hated the man. _He's too fit and far too handsome_ , Sherlock thought as the doctor examined Molly's hand, cracking horrible jokes and making her laugh. The surgery was scheduled for two days later and her hand rewrapped in a more stable splint.

Wanda came in afterwards to assist Molly to the restroom on her own for the first time (they had removed her catheter whilst Sherlock out getting a cup of coffee). When she came back out, leaving Molly on her own for the moment, she gave him an appraising look and asked, "What's your problem?"

"I _have_ no problem," he replied, silently cursing burley orthopedic surgeons. "Shouldn't you be in there with her?"

"Molly asked for privacy. What's with that face?"

"What face?."

"You need sleep," she said as she straightened the sheets on Molly's bed.

"I've stayed up for five days straight on a case before. This is nothing." He had no idea why he was defending himself to the woman.

"A case? Like a murder or something?" She fluffed Molly's pillow.

"Something of that nature, yes."

"Not the person you love most in the world almost dying, though?" she whispered, leaning over the bed towards him.

He panicked for a split second, before deducing that there was no way that Molly could have heard the comment considering the distance they were from the door the volume of Wanda's voice. "You're awfully nosey for a nurse."

"I see a lot of people. I notice things," she said as started to walk towards the bathroom.

 _Definitely a distant relation._ Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a headache coming on and needed a long, hot shower.

A couple of minutes later Molly and Wanda came back out of the loo. Sherlock immediately walked up and took Molly's arm. She eyed him suspiciously. "What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Wanda let him help Molly into bed. "Oh, he's just put off by our lovely Dr. Barwick."

Sherlock shot the nurse a dirty look.

She laughed. "Don't try to deny it. I've seen that face before. No husband or boyfriend likes their girl seen to by that man."

Molly looked from Wanda to Sherlock a bit confused. Wanda just winked at her. "He _was_ a bit dishy, wasn't he?" Molly said as she got comfortable.

"If you go for that sort of thing," Sherlock said, sitting down.

"You mean handsome, charming doctors?" Molly said. "Oh, certainly not _my_ type."

Sherlock scowled; Wanda laughed.

"We should stop," the nurse said as she checked Molly's IV. "He's pouting."

"Oh, Sherlock'll be okay. He knows I only have eyes for him," Molly teased.

Her words, though she was joking, made him want to smile. Unfortunately, his joy didn't last long, because just at that moment the door to her room opened and Tom the Idiot walked in carrying a dozen roses.

* * *

That was one way of getting him to leave.

He simply couldn't sit there while she visited with her ex-fiancé. The man was a buffoon and was he drooling all over her! So Sherlock excused himself, saying he needed a shower and a change of clothes. He kissed Molly on the forehead and said he'd be back soon, then cut Tom a nasty glare before leaving the room.

Now he was stuck in gridlock traffic wishing he had the energy to just get out and walk. But he didn't, instead, he rested his head on the seat of the cab and closed his eyes, trying to relax. It felt like he'd been on edge for a month, though it had only been a couple of days. _Or maybe it's been twenty-five years_.

Suddenly he was hit with the memory of a particularly awful time in his life…

 _The week he turned twenty Sherlock had gone on an eight-day bender. Cocaine was good for solving puzzles, but heroin was his escape. He couldn't remember much beyond bliss, followed by pain, followed by bliss. The cycle continued over and over, with some vomit and self-hatred mixed in for good measure. In the end he had to leave the flat he'd moved into a month prior to score again, he had no choice. It was the first time he had left in more than a week._

 _As he made his way down the familiar dark street, a strange sensation crept up his spine. Not abnormal. He'd been high for several days straight; his life was one strange sensation after another. This was his worst trip yet. He'd never used_ so _much for_ so _long before. He'd only just started dabbling in opioids a few months prior when he discovered what he thought was the perfect amount to completely blank out his mind but not cause him physical harm._

 _He stopped walking._ What _is_ that? _he wondered. He knew that feeling and it wasn't one he associated with drugs. Looking around he tried to collect himself, but he was coming down fast… and hard._

More _, he thought as he continued on his way. He only got about fifty meters before the feeling returned, overriding his need for the drug, and he stopped once again._ It's…I know this feeling. _Seeing a street kid on the corner, he studied her._ Fifteen, homeless, abusive boyfriend _. To his left he saw a woman smoking a fag._ Syphilis, alcohol and cocaine addiction, been waiting on her pimp for thirty-five minutes _._

 _Once again, his need returned and he started walking, focusing on getting to the house and finding his dealer. He turned the corner, just two streets away from..._

 _That's when it happened. He was tackled to the ground by at least three men._

 _Sherlock fought back, but he was tired, his body wrecked with exhaustion and malnutrition. Feeling the pin prick in his neck, he knew that he was fucked._

 _He woke, strapped down to a bed in an unfamiliar room, instantly trying to fight his way out of it._

" _Save your strength, Sherlock," a voice said from the doorway. "There's something you need to see."_

 _It took almost a week to get clean. He felt like he was dying. The pain was unimaginable. He was burning alive, then freezing to death. On more than one occasion he thought he was going to vibrate out of his own skin from the tremors. He could taste nothing but bile for six straight days._

 _On the third day, he decided it wasn't worth it and tried to knock out a guard with his IV pole. It didn't work. On the fourth day, he smiled when he vomited on his brother's shoes. Small victories. On the fifth day, he begged them to kill him. They refused. On the sixth day, he rested… actually rested._

 _When, on the seventh day, his head finally cleared and his stomach stopped turning, he looked at his brother and said, "I'm ready."_

 _Mycroft just nodded and motioned for one of the guards to bring Sherlock his clothes._

 _They found her in the canteen at Heatherwood Hospital. She was sipping tea and staring into the distance. He hadn't heard much after Mycroft's announcement of pancreatic cancer during the car ride. His body was still recovering; his mind was completely conflicted. Half of him wanted to be there for Molly when she needed him most. The other half, the half that thrived on excitement and the rush/bliss of narcotics, just wanted to get back to what he was doing a week prior. He'd been having_ such _a good birthday._

" _How long does he have?" Sherlock asked. They were seated a fair distance away. Although he didn't think she'd have noticed them if they were sitting on top of her table. She looked devastated._

" _Maybe six months, if he's lucky," Mycroft answered._

" _And when did you find out?"_

" _We've been looking for you since Christmas, Sherlock. They found out the week before."_

" _What can be done?"_

" _Nothing. He's dying," Mycroft said matter-of-factly._

 _He turned to his brother, taking his eyes off of the young woman for the first time since entering the room, and said, "You know what I mean, Mycroft. Don't fuck with me right now."_

" _I suppose we could work on getting him moved to a better facility with better doctors. The Royal Marsden would be the best. Chemo and radiation could extend his life… some, but you knew that."_

" _And Molly?"_

" _What about her?"_

" _When she loses her father she will have nothing."_

" _She'll have her exceptional mind and, of course, you."_

By the bollocks. _The bastard had him. Sherlock looked back at her. It was Molly or the drugs. Was it even a question? She was graduating in a few months, possibly without her father. He could stop for a little while, it wouldn't be that hard. "Whatever your offer, I'll take it."_

" _Wise choice, brother."_

" _Piss off, Mycroft," Sherlock replied and, oddly enough his brother did just that, leaving him alone to watch the grieving girl across the room._

* * *

" **Mrs. Hudson**!" he called out as he sprinted into 221B Baker Street.

The older woman walked into the hallway. "For God's sake, Sherlock, I'm not deaf!"

"Yes, but I never know when you're listening to your heavy rock music."

"Heavy metal or hard rock. What were you doing in your youth that you don't know that simple fact?"

He shrugged. "Solving crimes, annoying Mycroft, avoiding people…"

"Same as today, then. How's Molly? I want to go see her."

"She has a visitor, that's why I came home. I'm going to take a shower and I'll need food." He turned and started for the stairs.

"But how's she doing?" Mrs. Hudson called after him.

"She's gonna be fine," he said before rushing up the stairs.

It all hit him about halfway through his shower. Sherlock was no stranger to exhaustion. He'd been tired, both physically and emotionally on many occasions, but this was something altogether new. As the warm water ran over his tired muscles, sore from sitting on hospital chairs for two days, he tried pointlessly to calm his racing mind. Scenes flashed like images on an antique projector of Molly as they wheeled her into the the A&E less than forty-eight hours before.

Sherlock was at a crime scene when his mobile rang. If the case had been at all interesting he wouldn't have ignored the call, but he had just finished up his deductions on the obvious murder/suicide and was getting ready to leave. He couldn't remember everything the stranger on the phone had said, but within ten minutes he was running down the halls of Royal London Hospital looking for Molly.

When he saw her he was certain he felt his heart stop beating.

His brilliant, deductive mind failed him as he looked at the bloodied and broken body on the stretcher. He heard the nurses and doctors barking out orders to one another, but couldn't make out their words. Had it been anyone else he would have been calm, he would have listened to what was being said and seen that the woman was obviously alive. But he missed it all, his logical mind had blanked at the sight of her.

Now that he was away from her- away from the hospital and his mind was free to process the events of the last two days, it was like he was on a runaway train. He had been on this train before; there was no way of stopping it short of narcotics. He couldn't stop seeing her face, her blood-matted hair, her crushed hand. The images flashed over and over, blinding him.

If his body hadn't been shaking so badly, he might not have known that he was crying. But once he realised that he was he reveled in the release. It felt good to cry. He was alone and no one would know, so he kept on crying, letting the spray wash his tears down the drain.

Sherlock cried until the water ran cold and the train suddenly stopped.

When he got out, he found a plate of sandwiches on his kitchen table. Sitting down to eat, he heard Mrs. Hudson return. "I'll make your tea now that you're finally out. That was the longest shower I've ever heard you take. Did you want biscuits?"

"No. This is fine," he answered, feeling numb.

The woman stopped in front of him. "You look horrible Sherlock. I hope you plan on sleeping before going back to the hospital," she said, then flitted to the hob.

"I hadn't planned on it, but I think I might."

"Well, if you go back during visiting hours I want to come."

"Of course."

"If not, I'll go see her tomorrow. Be sure to tell her that Toby is fine and we're getting along wonderfully."

He ate quickly, burning his tongue on the tea, then shuffled to his bedroom. He could still hear Mrs. Hudson in the bathroom collecting his dirty clothes as he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 _First off, sorry for the cliffy on the previous chapter. As you know now, this is not an amnesia fic. Molly was just confused and very stoned. Brain trauma and drugs can do that to a person. Secondly, thank you all so much for reading. Now, gimme...gimme...gimme! I'd love to hear from you! ~Lil~_


	4. Status Quo

_Okay, here's chapter four. I really appreciate all the feedback! It keeps me going. As I said before, the story **is** finished, I'm just tweaking and adding things as I proof each chapters. I should mention that I've added an _epilogue _, so it is 11 chapters now instead of 10. Huge thanks go to MizJoely for her beta work and feedback! And, of course, MrsMCrieff for her Brit help (I've bugged her half to death this time 'round!)._

* * *

 **Chapter 4 - Status Quo -**

Sherlock walked into Molly's hospital room at 7.34 the next morning. He had slept for over twelve hours. She smiled as he carried in a vase full of daisies.

"My favourite," she said, sounding much more chipper than the day before.

"You sound better." He moved a large arrangement of roses from her bedside table, putting them on top of a plastic shelf behind the bed, and placed his flowers next to her so she could see them.

She looked slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, I was pretty cranky yesterday. Sorry about that."

"You're in pain, Molly, you're allowed to be _cranky_."

"Did you get some sleep?" she asked.

"I did and Mrs. Hudson fed me up on sandwiches and tea, I'll have you know. She's been spoiling Tobias, by the way. He's more demanding and insufferable than ever."

"Oh my God! I didn't ask about him! I'm a horrible mum."

"Your lip's looking better. So is the bruising around your eyes. Has the doctor been in yet?"

"You just missed him. He says I'm doing wonderfully. I'll have my surgery on this..." she said raising her broken hand. "... and a few more days of observation, then I can go home."

"About that…"

"I know, Sherlock, I know. This might be the end of my career as a professional pianist," she said with a forced laugh.

"Molly…"

"Look, we won't know anything until I have the surgery and then start working with it. I may never do another autopsy, I get that. But right now I'm just grateful to be alive. Okay?"

She certainly was back to her old self; an odd mixture of self deprecation and eternal hope. "I feel the same. Grateful, that is. But I wanted to talk about what was going to happen after you left the hospital."

"What do you mean?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and paced across the room. "Well, I was thinking that you might come stay at Baker Street for a while or, if you're more comfortable, I could come stay with you. Lend a hand, so to speak." Finishing with his most charming smile, Sherlock waited for her response.

"I'm sure I'll be fine. I don't want to put you out. I mean, really, you've done enough."

"You'll be limited, Molly. One handed and… I just want to make sure that you're safe."

"What are the chances that I'll get hit by another lorry?" She laughed.

Sherlock flinched. "My place or yours. I don't care which, but _I'm_ going to be there," he said in a tone that he hoped left no room for argument.

She studied him for a moment before saying, "Okay, _Heavy Handed Holmes_ , fine. I'll let you know."

"Good." He sat down. "Now tell me what I missed yesterday."

Evidently Tom wasn't her only visitor. John had stopped by, but Sherlock knew that. He'd found a text waiting for him when he woke up that morning from his best friend regarding Molly's progress. Mike and Greg had also dropped in, both bringing flowers and well wishes.

Her IV had been removed and they were giving her oral pain relievers. That explained her spirits. Molly and morphine, it seemed, didn't mix well. She told him that her head felt much better, but that her hand was worse. He assumed the loss of narcotics was to blame for that.

Finally after an hour of small talk, Sherlock asked about Tom.

"What do you mean? He was just checking on me," she explained.

"Of course." He didn't know why he felt threatened by the man, but he did. "I just wondered how your visit went?"

"Awkward as hell, actually. He was… _weird_."

"Weird?"

"Yeah. Like he wanted to tell me something." She looked down at her blanket. "I'm sure it was nothing. I was probably still high."

"Probably," Sherlock said casually, though he had a working theory about Tom. Molly was the priority at the moment, however… "How did he find out about the accident?"

She looked thoughtful, as if she had wondered too. "I didn't ask; I probably should have. I assume mutual friends, though, I'm not sure who would have..." trailing off, she seemed confused. After a moment she shook her head. "I think I finally told him to piss off. Morphine makes me… angry, evidently."

Sherlock laughed, that was one of the _many_ effects it had on him.

"Listen," Molly started. "I never had my CT yesterday. Couldn't fit me in for some reason. Dr. Masterson said they'd be coming to get me later today. Then I'm to get a sponge bath."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I do hope you get Wanda and not that male nurse."

"Stop!" she said with a small smile as her cheeks turned pink. "My point is that you don't need to hang around here all day. Go! Find a case. You'll lose your mind doing nothing for hours and drive me mad in the process."

It wasn't a bad idea. "Okay, I will. But I'm coming back later and I'll stay here overnight."

"Why?"

He stood and leaned over her. "Because I choose to, that's why." Bending down, he brushed his lips across her forehead, then paused. "Don't have too much fun without me," he whispered. "And I want details about that bath."

Molly flushed even more and giggled. "Now _you're_ the one being weird!."

Wanting to give her something to think about in his absence, Sherlock kissed the corner of her mouth. "I'll be back, Molly," he said as he rose and quickly left the room.

* * *

Lestrade had a couple of semi interesting cases for Sherlock to go over. He solved them before he left the Yard, instructing Greg that he was available anytime before 9pm but after that he would be at the hospital with Molly and his phone would be off. He then went back to his flat and checked his website and answered a few emails.

Around 4.30 a client showed up asking for help with a business partner he thought was embezzling from him. Sherlock said he'd look into it. It was barely a four, but he had nothing else going on. An hour later he heard Mrs. Hudson answer the door and greet his brother. Sherlock rolled his eyes, wondering what The British Government wanted this time.

"Evening, Sherlock," the older man said as he sat down. "How's Molly doing?"

"You could visit her yourself; everyone else has."

"I don't frequently visit the infirmed."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's superior attitude. "Molly is recovering. She's having surgery on her hand tomorrow. The neurosurgeon is pleased with her progress and her spirits are high. Anything else?"

"You shouldn't tell her."

 _Here we are again._ "Why do you _care_ , Mycroft?

"Because it could ruin things, Sherlock. What if she never forgives you? You practically stalked her for years…"

"With your help!"

"Yes, with my help. What if she doesn't understand? What if she never wants to see you again? Going to get high to get her attention like you did John's?"

"What's your game?" he asked, suddenly very suspicious of his brother's true intentions.

"This isn't a game, Sherlock, this is her life, which was altered the moment you took a bus to Reigate and spied on her."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Are you… do you..?" _That's not possible_.

"What?" his brother questioned.

"Are you... _attracted_ to her?"

Mycroft scoffed. "Of course not, don't be absurd! I'm not after your… your… _whatever_ Molly is to you. I'm trying to keep you from making a mistake! It's, evidently, my second job," he mumbled under his breath. A few beats passed before he spoke again, then, "Remember how you felt before the exile?"

Sherlock glared. This was going to be one of _those_ conversations, was it? So be it.

"You thought you'd never see her again, so you took enough drugs to anesthetize a whale!" Something flashed in Mycroft's eyes: fear, loss of control and then utter exhaustion.

For a moment Sherlock felt a hint of remorse for what he'd put his brother through. Mycroft had never had it easy. He'd been a grown man for as long as Sherlock could remember. Occasionally, a memory of carefree laughter would float into his subconscious and he'd try to grab it, relish in it, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

He couldn't, however, forget the role the older man had played in this farce. "If I associate drugs with the loss or gain of Molly Hooper, you have no one to blame but yourself."

His brother gripped his umbrella tightly. "I'll admit that I made some… mistakes."

" _Some_?"

Mycroft nodded. "Indeed. But you're alive, are you not?"

Sherlock shook off the comment, wanting to move beyond the discussion of the past since nothing good could come of it. "I'm not starting a relationship with her without total honesty. She needs to know… everything."

The other man rolled his eyes.

"Secrets and lies almost ruined the Watson's marriage and it _has_ ruined your relationship with our parents. If I don't learn from all these mistakes then what was the point of all of this?" He waved his hands around.

Mycroft stood, carefully adjusting his waistcoat. "You'll regret this, Sherlock. Think about it before you talk to her. She's been through enough lately. This may be too much for her," he said as he started for the door.

"I think I know what best for Molly, but I'm sure she appreciates your concern." He followed. "I do have two questions for you though. One I should have asked months ago."

"What, Sherlock? Some of us have _actual_ jobs."

"Did you tell our psychotic sister about Molly?"

Mycroft looked horrified. "Of course not! How could you even…"

"Because she used her against me, Mycroft! Eurus _knew_ that Molly was a pressure point when not even Moriarty or Magnussen had figured it out."

"She's a Holmes, Sherlock, her intellect puts both of them to shame. Puts _us_ to shame, for God's sake! Most people might have missed your affection for the woman but certainly not our sister."

"Moriarty, then."

"Yes, he may have shared his observations. She could have gleaned all she needed from that. Besides, I still haven't determined how many little trips she made throughout the years. We can't assume your visit and John's interactions were her only ones."

Sherlock had already come to the same conclusions, but the question needed to be asked. He nodded his acceptance.

"And your other question?"

"Since I know you still have her watched, where was she going?"

"What?"

"Don't play dumb, she left work early and took a cab. Where was Molly going when she got in the accident that nearly killed her?"

With a deep sigh, he said, "I can't answer that question, Sherlock." Mycroft looked solemn and slightly regretful. "I'm sorry, but that one will have to come from the source."

"Which is?"

"If I gave you even one clue, you'd figure it out. And then we would _both_ be in trouble." Then he turned and left.

That answer told Sherlock nearly everything he needed to know.

* * *

He couldn't wait until nine, so he asked Mrs. Hudson if she wanted to join him and they decided to go to the hospital before visiting hours ended. He sent Molly a text before leaving, asking if she needed anything. She asked for something to read and her favourite crisps. Sherlock picked out a couple books for her. They'd have to stop on the way for the snacks.

Molly was dozing when they walked into the room.

"Oh my," Mrs. Hudson whispered.

"It looks worse than it is, I assure you." Or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

Opening her eyes, Molly smiled. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I knew you two were coming."

Mrs. Hudson kissed Molly's cheek and handed her the bag of grapes she'd insisted in buying. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Not bad, all things considered," Molly answered.

His landlady visited for about an hour before he walked her down to the front entrance and put her in a cab. When he got back to Molly's room, the same male nurse from the night she woke was taking her vitals. He waited for them to finish and the nurse to leave before taking his seat.

Molly, now much more mobile, turned in the bed until she was facing him, her head resting on her pillow. He could tell she was tired. "We need to talk," she said.

"Ready to tell me about the sponge bath?" he said, trying to distract her; he knew what was coming.

She just gave him a stern look.

"Okay. What are we talking about?" he asked.

"What's going on?"

"At the moment, we're evidently talking."

"No cheek. If you're going to be difficult then I'll just say it: what's with all the kissing and why have you hardly left this place? And I don't want to hear anything about emergency contacts. I actually should apologise about that, by the way. I panicked when Meena moved to Glasgow last year. I should have talked to you first."

"I don't mind, you know, being your... " He sighed. _Yours_. "And there's nothing going on. You were hurt, you…"

"I'm fine, Sherlock. But I _won't_ be if I find out that you're playing with me for some reason."

 _Bugger_. "I'm not playing with you. I've been worried." He swallowed thickly. "You don't know how you looked, Molly. I got to the A&E as they were bringing you in, I thought you were dead. For a split second, I thought you were gone. Can you imagine…"

"I don't have to."

"Right, I suppose you don't. Well, it's just that it put some things into perspective… and…" He wasn't ready for this conversation; he was screwing it all up.

Molly sat up. He reached out and helped her get comfortable. "What are you trying to say, Sherlock?"

"Can we do this when you leave? I'm not really ready…"

"Ready for what?"

"Everything I need to say."

"Sherlock…"

"Please, Molly!" He took her left hand in both of his. "I'm not playing with you. I will _never_ play games with you. Whatever I say to you from this point forward is one hundred percent honest, no matter what I've done in the past. Please believe me when I say that I'm here because I want to be. I… kissed you- have been kissing you because I'm happy that you're alive. If you had died…"

She squeezed his hand. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. We'll talk about it later. It's fine."

"At home?"

"At home," she repeated.

"And where will that be? Have you decided?"

"Not yet. Is that all right?"

"Of course."

She sighed and laid back down. "Can you get my nurse; I think it's time that I another pain pill."

Standing, he smiled. "May I kiss you, Molly? Or is that off the table until we talk?"

"Like I could say no to that," she said with a little laugh.

Sherlock pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before leaving to find her nurse. As he walked down the hall, he filed away the surprised look she had given when he pulled away. It was almost a good as her smile.

* * *

Sherlock settled into the chair next to Molly's bed and watched her sleep. Then he began sorting out his mind; he didn't want to be unprepared should that conversation arise once again.

First of all, there were his recent interactions with Mycroft. Why was his brother so adamant about keeping the past from Molly? The man had a motive for absolutely everything and Sherlock wasn't fooled. There was more going on here, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

This was a problem, however, and a very big one. Where Molly was concerned he _always missed something_ \- something big, not the usual minute, unimportant details that he often missed. The only time he had properly and completely deduced her was when he saw her for the first time when she was eleven years old. Since then _something_ kept getting in the way. It took him years to figure out what that _something_ was but it seemed to blind him at the most inopportune times.

He put a pin in Mycroft for a moment and tried to focus on Molly herself.

He needed to be straightforward. That was most likely the best approach with her, but did he tell her about her mother before or _after_ he announced his feelings? Leaving the small trail of breadcrumbs that he had over the last few days may have softened the ground a bit, but he knew that hiding his feelings for so many years had hurt her- would hurt her even more when she found out the truth. It had all been deliberate, too, that was the worst part. He'd watched her, interfered here and there, then pushed her away once she was fully a part of his life. He couldn't pretend that he'd just discovered how he felt, that would be another lie. It was all or nothing at this point.

Molly Hooper had taken on a different kind of symbolism after he saw her at her father's funeral so many years ago. Though she had changed somewhat in Sherlock's eyes a few months before Mr. Hooper's death, that was a can of worms his younger self tried to stay far away from… but sometimes failed.

He had gotten clean and had stayed clean _just_ long enough to satisfy his brother and get Mr. Hooper his treatment. Sherlock knew the man wasn't going to survive. Less than a six months after the diagnosis he had slipped back into his old habits once again. Mycroft had pulled him out once, for a special occasion, a joyous one this time. But he'd gone right back to the smack house when returned to London. Telling himself he was celebrating _for her_ , in his own way.

When he got the phone call about Molly's dad's death a few months later, for some reason, it shook the young man to his core.

He cleaned himself up and went to Reigate to check on her, knowing that her father would be buried next to her mum. The last time he'd seen her she'd looked beautiful and effervescent. Though the memory was somewhat unpleasant for Sherlock, he had clung to it knowing that at least she was healthy...happy.

He didn't know what a toll the last several months had taken on her. The once thriving girl was too thin, her skin too pale. Even from a distance, Sherlock saw dark smudges under big brown eyes, sunken cheeks and chapped lips.

As Sherlock watched Molly grow up, he had expected great things from her but watching her bury another parent, he wondered if she'd ever really recover. There were only a handful of people at the service. He had known, of course, that Molly's family was all but gone. Both of her parents were only children, their parents both dead. She had, at the time, one great aunt still living. The rest of the attendees were friends of her father's or loyal clients of his car repair shop. None of Molly's friends from uni had shown up. Sherlock assumed that she hadn't told them; it was something she'd do. She was used to suffering alone, he'd watched her do it on more than one occasion.

When he got back to London, he went straight to Mycroft.

" _I'm… worried about her," he told his brother._

 _The older man just nodded._

" _What can we do?"_

 _After thinking for a moment, Mycroft said, "I can try to make things easier for her."_

" _How?"_

" _Grease a few palms here and there, perhaps call in a favour or two, make sure she gets into every school to which she applies, gets any job she wants. It's not as if she doesn't deserve it, of course."_

 _Sherlock nodded, itching for a hit, but he wanted to get this taken care of first. "Okay, do that."_

" _I'll need something in exchange."_

" _Can't your agents handle anything on their own?" he said with a huff. One of Mycroft's favourite ploys was to make Sherlock take on government work for a month or two to keep him clean for short periods of time._

" _That's not what I want and you know it."_

 _Sherlock knew this was coming. If he asked for something big, he'd have to give Mycroft something big in return. "I need the drugs, Myc! They slow things down…"_

" _Or speed things up, whichever suits your needs," his brother interrupted._

" _I'm in control! My usage is…"_

" _Do this or she gets no more assistance, Sherlock. I want three months at a facility of_ my _choosing. 'Doing it on your own' didn't work last time."_

 _It only took a moment for him to make his decision. "Fine, I'll go to rehab! But I want updates!"_

" _I've always kept you apprised of her well-being, haven't I?"_

" _Of course you have, Myc, when you could use it against me."_

 _It worked that time. He stayed clean for good, well… almost for good._

 _The day that John and Mary took him to St. Barts after finding him in a smack house, Sherlock wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Literally. She'd never seen him like that before. Oh, he'd been high on several occasions when he'd 'checked' on her, but Molly Hooper had never witnessed his addiction._

 _Getting shot at the end of the day had almost been a relief. At least he could avoid her anger and hurt for a while longer. And he got more drugs._

 _It really had been for the case. But, just like with John after Mary's death, he'd gone too far. He always did..._

 _No_! Sherlock thought. He couldn't get caught up in other regrets. There was too much at stake. He had to focus on two things: the past- the part of their history that she was not aware of yet and, after his brother's cryptic comment earlier in the day, where had Molly been going on the day of the accident?

By the time his eyes felt dry and heavy he still hadn't come up with a cohesive plan as to how to talk to her. It would require more thought.

* * *

 _The 'unpleasant memory' that was mentioned earlier? We'll see that later. It's a big moment for Sherlock. Okay, please let me know what you think. Still lots more to come. Lot's of flashbacks and as of right now the rating will be changing (unless I decide to pull the two sex scenes I've written... what do you think? Should I?)_

 _Thanks so, so much for reading! ~Lil~_


	5. Home (Is Where Molly Is)

_All right, chapter five is here. Thank you all for the review and encouragement! Of course, I have to thank my lovely and talented friends MizJoely and MrsMCrieff for all their help and hand-holding! Without them, there'd be no story!_

 _I'm seeing that we are in favor of keeping the sex? I'm still thinking it over. Guest who wanted me to keep it T: If I do move things to an M-place I will put a warning in the chapter(s) and indicate where the sex is located. I want you to enjoy the story and not be put off by a few hundred words of sexy times. Thanks so much! _

_I still own absolutely nothing. Enjoy! ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 5** \- **Home (Is Where Molly Is) -**

She had her surgery the next day. It had gone well, though, for the time being Molly's hand was more metal than bone. The pins would remain for at least a month, perhaps longer. She looked like a science experiment. It was actually pretty fascinating the way they'd pieced her hand back together; she allowed Sherlock study it at length. He could tell that she was worried about regaining full range of motion. But his ever pragmatic Molly also understood that it would take some time before she could start her physio and even longer before any determination could be made about going back to work.

At her urging, Sherlock had been working during the day but he refused to be anywhere but her room overnight. He tried to be there by dinnertime, but that wasn't always possible. They chatted, he fussed, she got annoyed (especially for the first couple of days after the surgery because she was put back on morphine once again). She never questioned his motives though, for which he was grateful because he still wasn't ready to explain himself.

Five days after the accident Molly was being released and she still hadn't told Sherlock where she wanted to go. He paced her room waiting on the release paperwork and her answer.

 _Step, step, step, turn._

She was sitting on the side of the bed, dressed in sweats and a jumper, her feet swinging back and forth. He could feel her watching him. "You're making me nervous, you know," she said.

 _Step, step, step, turn…_ His legs suddenly felt too long. "What's keeping her? She said she'd be right back," he complained as he continued to tread the very small space. _Step, step, step, turn..._

"You have the patience of a three year old!"

 _Step, step, turn…_ Suddenly he was making _himself_ nervous. "Did _Dr. Handsome_ visit you this morning?"

"Yes, he did. I am, evidently, healing beautifully. The best progress he's ever seen," she said proudly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "God! If that's how he flirts…"

"He wasn't flirting, Sherlock, he was encouraging my recovery. I know you don't like him, but he's a good doctor."

"I'm aware of that. My brother handpicked him, just like Dr. Masterson." _Step, step..._

"Your brother what?" Molly asked.

 _...step… stumble._ "What?"

"All right," Wanda said as she entered the room. "Let's get you out of here, shall we? I have a few things for you to sign, Molly, and these are for the both of you." She handed them each a stack of papers. "I've explained how to care for that hand, but the instructions are written down if you forget."

Molly tried her best to sign her release papers with her left hand while Sherlock gathered up her few belongings and gifts. Though most of the flowers had died (or were in the process of dying), she was adamant about keeping the peace lily his parents had sent.

Once the papers were signed and Molly was seated in a wheelchair, the nurse smiled at the pair. "I'm gonna miss you two," she said.

"We're not going to Antarctica, Wanda," Sherlock said as they started down the hall. "I live ten minutes away."

"Am I supposed to believe that you're going to come visit me, _Mr. Posh and Famous_? And I don't believe that you can get here in ten minutes."

"If he says he'll stay in touch, he will," Molly said to the woman.

"You know, I don't have a nurse…" Sherlock started.

"What's that mean?" Wanda asked Molly.

"It means that he likes you and you're probably stuck with him. He doesn't like many people," Molly explained.

Wanda just laughed in response.

When they got to the front entrance, the nurse said her goodbyes, hugging them both and giving Molly her mobile number before pushing the wheelchair back into the hospital.

"Okay," Sherlock said once they were inside the government car he'd purloined. "Now you have to tell me where we're going because I have to tell Rolph. Otherwise, he's just going to drive around the city for hours. He'll do it and get paid for it. Government waste knows no limits."

Molly gave him a look… _Oh, that look_ … It was her 'I'm onto you, Mr. Holmes' look. It was a look he'd never seen before the night of his fall but had seen many times since. "I'll make you a deal." Her face changed, morphing to utter sweetness."You tell me why your brother was involved in selecting my doctors and I'll tell you where I'll be staying for the next few weeks."

 _Diabolically adorable,_ he thought. _Fine_! This was delicate though. He couldn't lie, of course, that would only make things worse, but he also couldn't disclose too much too soon. He wasn't ready for that. And besides, he wanted her well before they had _that_ conversation. "Is it so hard to believe that I might call in favours to get you the best care possible, Molly? You were critically injured." Her face was impassive as she listened to him. _Where'd she learn that? Ah, yes… that would be my fault._ "I simply wanted you better." He raised an eyebrow.

She nodded slowly. "Baker Street, for now," she answered. "I want my cat."

"You're choosing my place just because you think you'll get that overfed fluff ball quicker? I could just as easily have him sent to you at your flat."

She smiled again and rested her head on his shoulder. "Take me home, Sherlock, I'm tired already."

Even though he suspected that she'd chosen Baker Street more for his benefit than hers, it didn't stop the warm feeling from spreading through his chest.

 _Home. Maybe someday it will be_.

* * *

Baker Street was a good choice for Molly's recovery. While Sherlock was working Mrs. Hudson had the opportunity to fuss over the young woman. Sherlock felt more than confident that Molly was well looked after by his landlady. And of course, she had her blessed cat back.

Though it sparked an argument (a long one which he won by bringing Mrs. Hudson into the fray), Molly was sleeping in his bed and him on the sofa. A district nurse came by two times a week to check on her hand and ask a myriad of questions, but all in all, she seemed to be improving.

They had frequent visits from John and Rosie. Molly got to spend lots of quality time with their goddaughter and John could run around London with Sherlock with a bit more freedom. Many nights the pair would come home to find the females cuddled up asleep in his bed. When this happened he sent John home, saying it would be cruel to wake them. Frankly, the sight of Molly curled around a sleeping child in the middle of his big bed made him ridiculously happy. He wanted a photograph of it, but settled on searing the image into his mind (okay fine, _and_ a single photo on his moble that he also forwarded to John because Rosie looked peaceful and happy - frankly so cute he nearly blew it up to hang over the mantel!).

Sherlock was instantly comfortable with Molly in his space. No surprise there. He had spent enough nights in her flat (and her in his, though that always happened in his mind) that he was well acquainted with her habits and routines. One of the many good things about Molly Hooper was that she was very low maintenance. All she really needed was reading material, a telly, her cat, tea, chocolate, crisps and warm clothes and she was as happy as she could be outside of a morgue.

As soon as they had arrived at Baker Street, Sherlock started making the place more 'Molly friendly'. First and foremost, he purchased another TV for his bedroom. He also gave Mrs. Hudson a list of Molly's favourite food and drinks. After giving her a day to settle in, he asked her to accompany him and John to her flat and to pick some of her personal items.

There were a few awkward moments, of course, but they worked through them. They were nothing compared to the first time he'd stayed at her flat following his Fall…

 _He'd been 'dead' for six months. Six months of chasing down the scum of the earth, desperately trying to clear his name. Oh, he had enjoyed some of it, of course. It was like one giant puzzle and when the pieces started fitting together the rush was unbelievable. But there had been temptation as well._

 _The bulk of Moriarity's network was financed, like all criminal networks, by drugs. He was surrounded by them almost all the time. So far, he had managed to avoid using, but just barely._

 _A few days prior he had been in Amsterdam, the Meca of decadence itself, working on rooting out a general in the Network and had very nearly given in. His mind, his bloody treacherous mind, tried to tell him that he could handle it- that he deserved it. He'd given up everything for this hunt. He'd given up his job, his home, his best friend. He'd given up his Molly to put an end this whole thing and keep those he cared about safe._

 _Then he saw her face. He conjured an image of Molly. Not Dr. Molly Hooper, pathologist, but Molly Hooper as she sat at her father's funeral, sad and alone, no one left in her life to depend on. No one but him, and she didn't even know he was there. The image was replaced with her smiling face as she stood next to Jim from IT, unassuming and hopeful. Innocent. If he failed, if he let his guard down for one moment and lost his focus not only would he never be able to return to that life, that job, that home… but they'd all be in danger._

Molly _._

 _He knew he had to see her. She fortified his defenses. She always had. Just one hit of her smiling face and he could go on and continue this God forsaken mission._

 _To say that she was shocked when she opened her door would have been an understatement._

" _Wha… oh my God… what are you doing here? Are you hurt? Is it over? Get in here!" She pulled him into her flat, quickly shutting and locking the door behind him._

" _It's not over and I'm not injured. I just needed…" He paused, taking a deep breath. "...a break."_

" _Of course! Sit!" She smiled, then frowned, then smiled again. "I'll… ah, make tea."_

 _Sherlock removed his dingy pea coat, hanging it on the hall-tree by the door, then sat down on the sofa. Her home was exactly as he had expected it. He hadn't been able to really take it in on his first visit, but he did now._

 _It was stylish but homey. She had clearly gotten the promotion she'd been hoping for recently. Some of the furniture was new and a bit pricy. As... a matter of fact the apartment itself seemed above the price range for a pathologist…_ Damnit, Mycroft! _How had he missed it before? This had his brother written all over it. He sighed,_ well, at least she's in a safe neighborhood. _Which, he assumed, was the point of the pushy prick's intervention._

" _Here we are," she said, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. She handed him one then sat across from him in an overstuffed chair._

" _Thank you, Molly."_

" _So, how's it going?" Drawing her feet up into the chair, she got comfortable as if she expected him to start some kind of long and exciting tale._

 _He didn't disappoint. Knowing he could trust her with anything and everything he told her, he went through the last six months of his life in great detail. She was riveted, eyes wide as she listened to his story._

 _She looked ridiculously adorable in her flannel pajamas bottoms and oversized tee shirt. Surprisingly she didn't even seem self-conscious about being dressed so casually in front of him. Her excitement at seeing him, of hearing about his adventures from the last few months, seemed to have overridden her insecurity. He felt stupidly happy sitting in her front room chatting, drinking tea as if it were a completely normal thing to do._

 _He loved it. But it couldn't last._

 _Around two in the morning Molly started yawning. "I'm so sorry. I just came off a double. Thankfully I'm off tomorrow, though," she said._

" _It's fine. I've kept you up and should be going."_

 _She sat up quickly. "No! Stay here, please. I mean for the night."_

" _Well…"_

" _I'll cook a nice breakfast in the morning and… you look like you could use a shower anyway." Her eyes went wide as if she'd made some verbal faux pas._

 _Sherlock smirked at her frankness. He did indeed need a shower and, if he were honest a warm bed would be a nice change from the hovels he'd been frequenting. "You make a good point. Fine. One night. Then I must get back to work."_

 _She smiled as she stood. "Okay, this way."_

 _He followed her down the hall to the bathroom._

" _Give me those clothes and I'll clean them for you," she said when they were standing in front of the loo._

 _Later, he would credit his overly tired mind for the slip that followed her request. "And what do you suggest I wear in the meantime? Unless you're just trying to get a look at my goods?"_

 _A look of complete horror overtook her face as she stepped back. "Ah… n-no… I didn't..."_

" _I was teasing, Molly, it was a joke!" He reached for her, gripping her shoulder as comfortingly as possible._

"Teasing _?" she said in an angry tone. "Still! Even after everyth..."_

 _He released her. "No, not like that! Just… a poor attempt at humour." He sighed, realising how lame he sounded._

" _Oh, of… of course." Thankfully, she relaxed, a bit. "I'll loan you a dressing gown. Unfortunately, it has a bit of fruit on it, I hope you don't mind."_

 _He chuckled. "Most of your clothes do. I'd expect nothing less." He instantly thought that she might take this too the wrong way, so he added, "It's your signature, Molly, like... my coat."_

" _Yes… well..." She eyed him suspiciously as she walked to her room to get the gown._

 _His clothes were clean by breakfast and she made him a hearty meal, as promised. As they finished up, sipping coffee and picking at the remnants of eggs, bacon and beans, he found her staring at him, a curious look on her face._

" _What?" he asked._

" _I was wondering…" She paused as if she didn't want to ask the question._

" _What were you wondering, Molly?"_

 _Taking a deep breath, she asked, "Why were you so cruel… at Christmas? I mean, you've been… horrid to me before, deducing my body, my weight, my flaws, but that was… it felt different."_

 _Sherlock was rendered speechless._

 _She really didn't miss a thing. For the most part, Molly Hooper could see right through him. And it terrified him on a regular basis. Of course that day had been different, for several reasons._

 _First of all, he was distracted. Irene Adler was proving to be a problem. She was… interesting and infuriating in equal measure. And part of him felt like he was betraying Molly by letting his mind be preoccupied by the dominatrix. Ridiculous, of course; he'd had many sexual relationships since seeing Molly, but not since 'meeting' her. But it was true regardless. Adler's intellect was alluring. Her cunning was seductive. Her morals were nonexistent. It was an intoxicating combination._

 _Secondly, there was the case itself. It needed to be solved. He was always slightly irritable at that point in an investigation._

 _Lastly and, most troubling, Molly was standing in his sitting room, dressed in a tight black dress, looking nothing like herself, but enticing nevertheless. And so fucking grown-up that she had completely obliterated his images of young, sweet Molly that he tried to constantly focus on. Of course, she had off-set all the sexiness with the festive bow in her hair. No matter how 'interesting' The Woman was, she had nothing on the perplexing nature of Molly Hooper. Twenty plus years of study and Sherlock was nowhere near figuring her out! The instant she removed her coat he decided that she was meeting someone and it wasn't him!_

 _He always got something wrong when he tried to deduce her._

" _I don't have a good explanation for you, Molly," he said keeping his eyes averted. "I was an ass. I was in a mood and I took it out on you…"_

" _In front of everyone," she interrupted._

" _Indeed. It was unwarranted and, as you said, cruel. Again, I'm sorry."_

" _I wasn't looking for another apology, Sherlock. Just… curious. Your behaviour confuses me sometimes."_

You're not the only one _. "Am I forgiven?"_

" _I forgave you then. I'd just appreciate if you would treat me with respect from this point on."_

 _And he did. When he returned to London for good, their day of solving cases, even when he used her bedroom as a bolthole to hide away from Janine, Sherlock made every effort to treat Molly with the respect she deserved, had always deserved. Pushing her away, deducing her 'flaws', hadn't stopped his feelings, just covered them in a shroud of mean-spirited words. It had just hurt her and he vowed at that moment, sitting at her dining table, never to do that again._

Now, three weeks after being released from the hospital, Molly seemed at ease in his home. They had settled into a comfortable rhythm. Mrs. Hudson would make them breakfast in the mornings, which they ate in the kitchen (he had allowed his landlady to clean the room top to bottom). Molly generally puttered around the flat, reading, messing on her laptop, using her left hand as much as possible (he had a theory about that) or watching telly in the front room unless Sherlock saw a client. If that happened, she quietly slipped into the bedroom.

Though he rarely ate lunch, Molly always did, but he'd at least take tea whilst she ate. If he got a case, he made sure that Mrs. Hudson was going to be in most of the night and would check on Molly before he left the flat.

Sometimes he was even home for dinner. If he was, he'd order takeaway and they'd eat on the settee while he talked about cases and watched Molly's eyes light up with interest just as he had imagined.

It was all so easy- so perfect.

But of course, it couldn't last. He had to talk to her, he had many things to tell her and she was being so incredibly patient. Not only patient but indulgent, if he was honest. Because they were becoming closer and she hadn't asked anymore questions.

They had been touching each other more and more. He had noticed that there was an ease to their contact that had never existed before. She touched him freely now. Some nights, when he didn't have a case, she would curl up next to him on the settee and watch one of her programmes. She would rest her head on his chest, his arm around her back, lightly touching her side. Once she had even fallen asleep with her head on his lap. It had been the best night so far.

And the kisses…

Molly Hooper had kissed his cheek on seven different occasions since they'd come home. _Seven!_ He'd never pushed the limits, never again kissed her on the lips like he had that day in the hospital. Something was stopping him, and he knew what it was.

He had to tell her.

He was going to have to tell her everything and when he did…all this would end.

It was easy to put it off; excuses kept coming up. Molly's well being was more important than conversations. Her recovery took precedence over everything else at the moment, or at least that's what he told himself. But each passing day they got closer and Sherlock felt the need to tell her everything.

* * *

She was a week away from having the pins removed when Sherlock came home early one evening to see Mike Stamford exiting the building.

"Mike, what are you doing here?" Sherlock asked.

The older man smiled. "Visiting Molly and bringing her a few things," he explained.

"Things?"

"Yes," Mike laughed. "It seems that I've taken up Molly's old job of dropping off body parts to Baker Street- ah, yes, I was always aware of that." He laughed even harder. "I'll let her explain what she's up to, though. It's been strange not having you around the lab this last month."

"I'm sure I'll be back once Molly recovers or something comes up with the Met."

"Will she?" Mike asked.

"What, recover? I believe she will. This is Molly we're talking about."

"Even if she can't perform autopsies, you do know that she'll still have a job, right? She's still a valued member of the staff."

"Of course."

"She is dearly missed."

The detective nodded.

"Well, I won't keep you. She was pretty excited," Mike said as he turned to leave.

When Sherlock entered his flat he found Molly hovering around the kitchen table, setting up what looked like an experiment.

"Oh, you're home!" she said nervously. "I probably should have asked you first, sorry."

"Asked me what?" As Sherlock approached her he saw what she was doing. There was an arm laying on the table, next to it was a full assortment of surgical instruments.

Molly bit her lip as she watched him take in the scene. "I'm going to try out my left hand."

* * *

His earlier assumptions had been correct: Molly had been strengthening her non-dominant hand. Clearly, she was concerned that she wouldn't be able to regain full use of her right after the pins came out. _It's an understandable fear_ , he thought as he looked at her little setup. If he suddenly lost his eyesight, for instance, he'd be devastated and would stop at nothing to find a solution.

"You don't have to ask me, Molly. This is your home too at the moment and it's no stranger to the odd cadaver limb." He studied the arm for a moment, then looked around the room. "Where's Toby, by the way?"

"Mrs. Hudson's cat-sitting for the time being. He's too curious for his own good."

"He's a carnivore, Molly, it's not really his fault."

"Aww, you're defending him!" she cooed. "That's so sweet."

"Never mind that, what's the plan?"

"Well, I can't do much at all with my right hand the way it is now but I will be able to use it eventually, at least to some extent. For now, I wanted to see what kind of cuts I could manage with my left." She cut him a sly smile. "You want to be my assistant, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'd love to," he replied as he removed his jacket.

They worked for about two hours. Molly didn't start to get frustrated until she attempted to remove the brachial arterial. He knew why she wanted to do this; she was pushing herself. Arterial work was precise and extremely difficult. Up to that point, she had been able to make multiple simple incisions and though they were nowhere near her usual work, they were remarkable considering it was her first attempt.

"Damnit!" she growled as she severed the artery for the third time.

"I think it's time for a break," Sherlock said reaching for the scalpel.

"I _can_ do this!"

"I know you can, but it's the first time you've tried anything so exacting with your left hand. Maybe you could give yourself a little credit? What you've done so far has been… amazing."

She looked up at him. Even though it was cool in the apartment Molly had sweat on her forehead. "You're probably right." Her shoulders relaxed and she sat down the scalpel. "Ah, sorry. I don't like to…"

"Fail? Really, I was totally unaware of this," he said in a mocking tone. "I had no idea that you were driven and obsessive when it came to your profession."

She had an amused look on her face. "Pot, meet kettle!" Holding out her hand, she let him remove her glove. "I was just overly excited, that's all." As she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, she added, "I miss dead bodies. Does that make me weird?"

Sherlock smiled and shook his head. "Of course not, it makes you interesting."

"You think I'm interesting, Sherlock?" she asked as she picked up the instruments and walked to the sink.

"Infinitely," he answered, joining her. Molly started to _try_ to clean them, but Sherlock put a hand on her back. "Let me do this. Go clean yourself up. You did all the actual work; I'll take care of the kitchen."

When she looked up at him he noticed that her cheeks were pink. _Is she blushing_?

"Ah, okay. Are you sure?"

"I am. Actually, why don't you change and we'll go out for dinner? Celebrate your new found dexterity."

"Out? Where?"

"Feel like Italian?"

"Sure," she said, turning to leave. "Should I dress up?"

"Yes, I believe you should."

* * *

 _Ooookay... I'm not sure, but I think Sherlock just asked Molly out on a date! The Date, in chapter six! Let me know what you thought about the homecoming and the flashback to the first_ bolthole _moment. Thanks so much for reading! ~Lil~_


	6. Dinner and Disclosure

_The Date is finally here! Thank you all for your continued support, it really means a lot. Special thanks to_ rrstone _from_ tumblr _for her Bracknell help in this chapter! Also, MrsMCrieff for her Brit help and MizJoely for betaing. I'm a lucky girl to have such amazing friends!_

 _ **Warnings:** Drug use._

* * *

 **Chapter 6 - Dinner and Disclosure -**

 _Bollocks_! He had just inadvertently asked Molly out on a date! _What the hell was I thinking_? he asked himself as he tidied the kitchen.

Hearing the water running in the bathroom, he knew he had some time. He quickly pulled out his mobile and composed a text to his best friend.

 **Molly and I are going out to dinner. I think it's a date. What do I do? - SH**

Two minutes later he got a response. **Have fun? - JW**

 **I've never seriously dated a woman before. What. Do. I. Do? - SH**

His phone rang, actually startling him. "What do I do, John?" he answered it with a hiss.

" _The same thing you do when you fake date a woman, only mean it!"_ He laughed at his own joke, just like he always did _. "You're panicking, Sherlock. You've known Molly most of your life and are basically living with her. You eat several meals with her a week, this is no different. Don't make it weird!"_ John said.

Sherlock walked to the sitting room near the windows and kept his voice as quiet as possible. "I know that I'm not an idiot. But this _is_ different. I told her to dress up," he hissed.

John chuckled; Sherlock wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. " _Well, I'd tell you to wear something nice too but one of your suits cost more than all of my clothes combined. Look, it's Molly. Your Molly. You know her all about her. Just go to dinner and enjoy yourself. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"_

He had talked to John at length about his feeling towards the woman currently showering in his bathroom, it had been both helpful _and_ excruciating. His friend's advice had been overly simplistic and completely lacking in finesse. It was a wonder he ever got laid. The conversation had just reinforced Sherlock's belief that Mary Watson had indeed been a saint. Unfortunately, it was his only real source of information.

"Ahh, should I... " He paused, not able to ask his next question (mostly because it made him feel like a child).

" _Of course you should kiss her! She's been touching you and kissing your cheek for weeks. Those are all good indicators, you dunce. She_ wants _you to kiss her, she probably has for the last seven years!"_

"Right, of course, right…"

" _Sherlock,_ " John said with undisguised mockery in his voice. " _Do you have protection?"_

"Shut up, John!"

" _If not, you should probably run out now…"_

"I can kill you and make it look like an accident!"

John laughed, far too much, then said, " _Really, this is a long time coming. Just have a good time and be a gentleman."_

"As if I'd be anything else!" Sherlock said before ringing off.

He paced as he tried to access everything he had on file regarding dating and romance. But instead, his treacherous mind graced him with an unpleasant memory...

 _The summer following Molly's graduation was a particularly difficult time for Sherlock. He hadn't been able to stay clean, and although Mycroft was well aware of this fact, he kept his end of the bargain anyway. Though her father was receiving his treatment, he was getting worse. Sherlock knew this because his brother sent him almost constant updates._

 _Mr. Hooper spent most of his time at home unless he was getting chemo. In that case, he and Molly traveled to London to the advanced oncology centre that Mycroft had arranged for them. Surgery was out of the question. Sherlock knew this for a fact; he had asked many, many times._

 _After being awake for three nights straight, running on cocaine, amphetamines and self-recrimination, Sherlock found himself in Bracknell, walking through the concrete hell. Restless and bored beyond measure, a trip to visit the girl had seemed like a good idea. Oh, how wrong he was._

What the hell's all this? _he asked himself as he stumbled into some kind of… gathering._ Oh, what fun… a festival! _Something about food or the arts, he really couldn't be arsed enough to pay attention._

 _Moving through the throngs of happy townsfolk, he scowled, wishing he was wearing some sort of armour. A long coat, perhaps, thick and heavy, to protect him. He felt exposed in his battered hoody in the mass of people. It was no different in London, as far as people were concerned, though he felt more comfortable there, like he belonged. He knew its every street and alley. His city had a beat, a certain smell that once breathed into his lungs gave him a sense of purpose. Small towns always felt unfamiliar, stifling, stagnant._

 _He walked around for forty minutes or so, trying to burn off some energy before going to her house. It was at least mildly interesting to observe the numerous people around him. To his left a twice divorced school teacher, to his right a slightly reformed auto thief, over by the food stands a compulsive gambler with a limp (most likely from a beating he took from a bookie). He kept walking and kept deducing._

 _Idly, he wondered as he walked if Molly was among them, these people enjoying the summer fete._ Probably not _, he thought._ She's most likely at home with her fath…

 _There she was, sitting on a stone bench, eating candyfloss and watching the other festival goers. She certainly looked better than the last time he'd seen her. Her hair was pulled into a low, neat plait and she was wearing tan shorts and a red singlet adorned with small white flowers. But it was her face that really caught his attention._

 _Her cheeks were slightly pink in the warm summer evening… unless..._ is she wearing make up? _Never before had he seen her looking quite so grown-up. Little Molly Hooper was no longer a child!_ Buggery fuck! _Her eyelids were a soft golden colour, glittering in the artificial lighting and dwindling sun. And, God help him, she was definitely wearing something on those lips. Gloss, maybe? Or lipstick, perhaps?_

 _Suddenly Sherlock felt very uncomfortable about his appraisal of the young woman. He had watched her, yes. He'd studied her, of course. But he'd never really felt…_ those type _of feelings for her… never. Throughout the years he had managed to convince himself that it was all perfectly innocent, his infatuation. That he was concerned for her well-being but that was as far as it went. He'd never thought about her when he took himself in hand. Those moments were for nameless- faceless woman, or memories of past conquests,_ not _Molly Hooper - no! She was a child- a… little girl, four years his junior and far too innocent and sweet._

 _Apparently, she had grown up. How, though? And how had it happened so fast? He'd seen her just a few months prior and she'd seemed no different._

 _So lost in his own mind, Sherlock almost failed to notice that a ginger-haired young man had approached, taking a seat on the bench next to her. The ginger said something that must have been hilarious, because Molly started to laugh, loudly. Sherlock rolled his eyes._ It couldn't have been that funny _. The pair talked for several more minutes, then left the bench and started walking… hand in hand!_

 _He followed them through the crowds, watching carefully. Who was this ginger and what made him think he was good enough for Molly Hooper? Sherlock deduced that the boy was the same age as Molly- that they'd graduated together. He was one of two children, the eldest, and was a slightly above average student. All in all, there was nothing remarkable about him._

 _They stopped at several stands, checking out the wares, buying food and useless trinkets. The boy pulled Molly to a stand, some sort of game where the object was to pop balloons with a dart, and won her an ugly stuffed cat. At one point, he tried to persuade Molly to get on a ride with him, but she shook her head, begging off. The boy gave up and they continued their trek._

 _After twenty-three minutes of walking, they ran into a group of teenagers. They must have known them because they stopped and chatted. Molly looked instantly uncomfortable. The ginger let go of her hand and talked animatedly with the other teens whilst Molly just stood there, looking around as if seeking an exit._

 _Finally, after fifteen minutes, the group broke up and Molly and her date were alone once again. Sherlock could tell she wanted to leave. He could also tell that she was trying to convey this to the boy in front of her, but he wasn't getting it. She stormed off a few minutes later and the boy chased after her. So did Sherlock._

 _As he caught up with the couple, he couldn't help but smile. It wasn't going well and, for some reason, this pleased him. Now that they were away from the crowds, Sherlock could mostly make out their conversation._

" _What was all that about, Molls?" the boy asked._

" _I'm tired, Wes."_

" _But everyone's going to Tim's house. I thought we'd, you know, maybe meet up with them and…"_

" _It's not a good night for me, okay?"_

" _Your dad, right?"_

 _Molly shook her head, saying something that Sherlock couldn't make out._

" _You can't keep using him as an excuse, you know?" the insensitive clot said._

" _I've been away too long as is."_

 _They continued on in silence until they reached her house, then Molly turned to him and said, "I had a really good time."_

 _The boy,_ Wes _, smiled and put his hand on Molly's hip. "Me too. Do I get a reward for winning you that kitty?"_

 _Biting her lip, she nodded. Sherlock's stomach turned as he watched the clumsy idiot lean in and artlessly kiss her on the front step of her house. When the disgusting display of adolescence spit swapping was finished, Molly smiled and the boy winked, saying he'd call her the next day. He then hopped off the step and practically skipped down the street._

 _Sherlock followed. He had a feeling about this kid._

 _The boy stopped at the first pay phone he came to and made a call. Sherlock stayed close enough to listen, but not be seen. It wasn't difficult; the area was poorly lit. The council clearly needed to replace more than one street light._

" _Yeah, mate. I just got rid of her." Pause. "Of course she's not coming! She's a prude! Although not as much of one as you thought. Yeah! I got my hand up her shirt." Pause. "They_ are _small but they're still tits!"_

 _At no point in the evening, that he was aware, did this little miscreant ever touch Molly Hooper's breasts!_

" _Is Debbie going to be there?" Pause. "Perfect! She's been gagging for me for ages!" Pause. "Naw, Molly's a nice girl, the kind my parents like. But Debbie and her legendary mouth… now that's my type! See ya soon, mate!"_

 _When the ginger came out of the booth, Sherlock walked up to him. "Hello," he said casually._

" _You waiting on the phone, mate?"_

" _Not so much, no."_

" _Well, then whatcha need? I'm not a dealer, if that's what you're looking for. But I know one."_

" _Wrong again. Wes is short for Wesley, I presume?"_

 _He backed the now-frightened boy up against the phone box._

" _I'm going to speak slowly so that you don't misunderstand anything I say. Tomorrow you will phone Molly Hooper and tell her that you are_ very _sorry but you won't be able to see her again. Tell her that it is entirely your fault, that you are an immature teenage boy who can't keep his dick out of other girl's mouths. Tell her that she shouldn't feel any responsibility for this, that it's a failing of the male gender as a whole and you in particular. Then wish her the best of luck in everything she does in the future. Do I make myself clear?"_

" _F-fuck you, mate!"_

Excellent vocabulary on this one _. Sherlock grabbed the boy by the lapels of his shirt and slammed him against the box. "I really hate repeating myself!"_

" _Jesus! You're nuts!"_

 _Good, his point was finally taking hold. "What are you going to say to Molly?"_

" _Ah… that I'm so-sorry, but that I can't go out with her anymore."_

" _And..."_

" _And, it's my fault because I've been cheating on her… because I'm a bl-bloke and blokes… Ah... fuck!"_

 _Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just tell her that it has nothing whatsoever to do with her. Is that clear?"_

" _Yeah, man. Please don't kill me, okay?"_

" _You will not speak of this conversation ever to anyone."_

" _What are you her brother or something?"_

" _I'm… none of your concern. Forget that we spoke. It will be in your best interest to do so." He let go of the boy, but stayed in his personal space for a moment. "Now, run along to your party. You look like you could use a drink."_

 _As soon as Sherlock stepped back, the boy ran away as fast as he could._

 _On the trip back to London, Sherlock couldn't help but think that he'd just made a huge mistake. In all the years he'd been 'watching' her, he'd never personally intervened, not like that. As soon as he got back, he contacted his brother and told him what he had done. Mycroft was pissed off, but Sherlock didn't care; he needed his tracks covered._

 _Evidently, it had worked. Mycroft said that little Wesley never spoke to a soul about the crazy smack head who had roughed him up that night. But that he had broke things off with Molly and that she was only mildly disappointed._

 _His Molly was a smart girl._

* * *

He could tell she was self-conscious about her hand. It was wrapped up and in a blue sling that clashed badly with the claret coloured dress she was wearing. She had only been to her doctor's, physio and, on two occasions, out to the shops with Mrs. Hudson since moving in. _I should have done this sooner_ , he thought as they waited for their entrees.

"So, this is the famous Angelo's?" Molly asked.

"It is."

"It's nice."

He nodded. _Oh… this is weird!_

Angelo had, of course, beamed at the sight of Sherlock walking in with a woman on his arm (because she _was_ on his arm, he meant what he said about being a gentleman!). The story of how Sherlock had saved him from a murder wrap had been told and a fuss had been made.

"Again, sorry about before. He's… he always does that," Sherlock said, picking up his water glass. Neither of them were drinking, despite the offer of _a bottle of the best red_ from Angelo. Molly was still taking pain pills for her hand and Sherlock simply didn't think alcohol was a good idea for himself.

"I thought he was sweet," Molly replied. "He's certainly fond of you."

"Hmm."

Their food arrived and that gave them a something to talk about for two whole minutes. Then it got awkward again.

After several more minutes of eating and silence, Molly finally spoke. "Wanda phoned this morning. She says hi."

Sherlock nodded again. _Why can't I think of anything to say_? _I can't just nod all night! We talk all the time!. We have_ been _talking for years. Maybe I should ask about her mother, it would be a good lead up to The Truth._

Molly had never mentioned her mother's death, a fact for which Sherlock was eternally grateful. Oh, he could have lied if it had come up, but he had never actually had to look her in the eyes and act like he didn't know what she was talking about. She had only mentioned her father's death on one occasion, very briefly, not even going into detail. When she did speak about either of her parents, it was usually a fond memory- an endearing anecdote about her childhood or adolescence. It seemed that Molly didn't like remembering the bad times.

Another thing that would, no doubt, cause her pain: making her relive her most difficult memories...

"Umm, Sherlock, can I ask a question?"

 _Yes, dear God, please!_ "Of course you can," he answered, putting down his silverware and giving her his full attention.

"Well, it's just… this feels…" She huffed and bit her lip. "Is this a date?"

 _That is an excellent question, Molly!_ "Would you like it to be?"

"You answer my question first."

 _Bollocks!_ He sighed, took another drink of water then cleared his throat. _Quit stalling and answer her!_ "It is. That is, I hope it is. Is that what you want?" _Make sure you say_ _ **is**_ _a few more times!_

She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "We never had that talk you promised me."

His head spun. "Right."

"You see, you know how _I_ feel, Sherlock- how I've always felt, but…"

He reached out and covered her hand with his. "I have a lot of things to tell you, Molly. First and foremost, I…" His mind froze, completely blanking out as his heart rate increased, but it was only a momentary loss of control. Within seconds he was back. "There's so much to say… but know that I _do_ know how I feel. I _have_ for a while. I have many apologies to make- explanations to give- but the first one is that I shouldn't have let you believe that I didn't mean what I said that day on the phone. I... did." He swallowed and waited.

A shy smile rose on her face. "I suspected," she said quietly.

"When?" he asked, more than a little shocked.

Glancing down where their hands were joined on the table, she turned hers over, wrapping her fingers around the side of his hand. "Well, it's been gradual, hasn't it? You've been leaving me clues. Honestly, I was dubious at first."

 _That's understandable._ She had every right not to believe him.

"I've known for years that you care for me on some level, Sherlock. Since the night of your death, I think. The fact that you trusted me with something so important... I knew I wasn't just silly little Molly Hooper anymore."

 _You never were._

"Then, you were so different when you visited me whilst you were...gone and when you came back. You were… kinder, more respectful. Even considerate of my feelings."

 _I should have always been..._

"But recently, and especially since the accident, you've been very _affectionate_ and attentive. So… demonstrative, I suppose. I wondered if you were having some kind of breakdown at first. I didn't really think you _meant_ to lead me on or play with me, even though that's how I worded it at the hospital. Actually, I thought that losing Mary, the revelations about your sister and friend…" She paused, looking at him carefully. He just nodded for her to continue. "Well, I thought that all those stresses happening one right after the other had… I don't know, maybe caused you to think you cared for me more than you actually do. Like if I was okay and alive and in your life it would make up for everything else."

 _Wrong._

"Then, things changed again," she said.

"Baker Street?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "It's different there. _You're_ different. I realised that I wasn't being fair. That I was _looking_ for reasons for your behaviour. When the simplest explanation was that…"

"I love you."

She sighed, her entire body relaxing at his words. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she said, "I love you too, you know?"

He expelled a deep breath, because even though he did, he knew, he also… _didn't_. "I do now."

"I've never been good at hiding it, Sherlock."

"That's one of my favourite things about you, Molly," he said.

They smiled at each other just as Angelo walked up, asking if something was wrong with their food (they'd hardly touched their meals). Sherlock said no, just to box it up, then he ordered them both dessert (chocolate cake for Molly, lemon tart for himself) and coffee.

The cab ride back to the flat was quiet, Sherlock never letting go of her hand the entire time. Cabs and Molly made him nervous. Irrational? Yes, but he couldn't help it.

After taking their leftovers to the kitchen, Sherlock stepped up to Molly and helped her remove the light cardigan she had draped over her shoulders, tossing it onto the sofa. She thanked him as she turned to face him.

"Molly, may I kiss you?" he asked, knowing the timing was perfect. It just felt… right.

"I've waited so long," she whispered in return.

 _Not as long as I have_ , he thought as he cupped her cheeks and licked his lips. Lowering his head, he paused just before their lips met and smiled. Here she was, his Molly, and he was finally kissing her.

Brushing his mouth against hers, Sherlock breathed her in, savouring the moment. But he wanted more. He felt her hand clutch his shirt as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. She seemed to be steadying herself. _As if I'd let you go_. A sound akin to a whine came from her as he slid his tongue across the seam of her lips. She opened and their tongues touched for the first time.

He thought his knees would give out.

She was warm and wet and soft. Her mouth tasted like chocolate and happiness. He didn't care how puerile that sounded, it was true.

A few seconds later he pulled away, though reluctantly, simply because they both needed the air.

"Oh… my…" she said, seemingly to herself.

He could only smile in response.

"More please." Her grin was wicked and innocent at the same time.

" _So_ polite," he said as he ran a hand over her shoulder, stopping to grip her waist.

She giggled as she slid her hand through his hair. Curling her fingers into the locks at the nape of his neck, she tugged. "Kiss me again, you idiot, or I'll show you how _not_ so polite I can be," she said, tugging a bit harder.

 _Fuck…_

He kissed her again, this time much deeper, with much more passion, wasting no time slipping his tongue into her mouth and seeking hers. Somehow, he had backed her up against the wall in the process. _Warm, so warm,_ he thought as he held her head to his and mapped the contours of her mouth with his tongue. That's what Molly Hooper represented to him: warmth and happiness. He growled as he deepened the kiss even further, losing himself in her soft moans and sighs. That is until…

"Owww," she cried into his mouth.

Realisation hit him the moment she cried out. Sherlock was pressed up against her injured hand, trapping it between them, the pins poking him in the chest. Jerking away he looked at her carefully. "Are you okay?" He reached for her. "Let me see your hand."

Molly laughed in response. "I'm fine. It only hurt for a second."

"Let me see it!"

"And what exactly are you going to do, _Doctor_? Anyway, I roll on it a couple of times a night and do the same thing." She took off the sling and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Oh, stop looking at me like that, will you?" she said, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa.

"Do you want a pill?" Sherlock asked, sitting down next to her.

"Not until I go to bed. I'm trying to cut them down."

"I… I got carried away. Sorry."

"Sherlock, I'm really okay." She rested her right hand on the arm of the sofa and leaned into him. "Look, it's out of reach. Will you kiss me now?"

The warmth was returning, but… He'd hurt her, and he was about to do it again, only in a completely different way. "No," he said simply.

Molly gave him a confused look. "What? Why..."

"I can't kiss you again, Molly, not until you know everything."

"Everything?"

"I've kept things from you. Important things. And before we do this..." He gestured between the two of them. "...you have to know the truth."

She swallowed thickly. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

A cold chill ran up Sherlock's spine. "I'm afraid not," he said solemnly, already missing her warmth.

* * *

 _Oh, so much fluff... but now comes the Truth. How will Molly handle it? Please let me know what you think. I love hearing from you all. ~Lil~_


	7. The Piper Must Be Paid

_First off, sorry about the wait. Between RL, another fic I'm working on and the fact that I_ reeeeaaaally _wanted this chapter to be **just** right, it took a bit longer than I expected. Thank you all for your support! Also, huge thanks to MizJoley for her help in this chapter (I needed a lot of hand-holding!) and, of course, MrsMCrieff for her Britt work. _

_I'm glad that everyone pretty much understood Sherlock's creepy behaviour in the last chapter. He was high, after all, and he did some not great things. Now he must explain himself to our Molly._

* * *

 **Chapter 7 - The Piper Must Be Paid -**

Taking a deep breath, Molly seemed to be collecting herself. Just moments before she had been crying. Crying wasn't good. It was very much bad.

Molly didn't often cry, she wasn't exactly over emotional. She had cried the day his sister had _forced_ him to phone her, or had she _been_ crying when she answered her mobile? He didn't know- had never asked. He'd just taken the coward's way out and apologised, letting her believe that he hadn't meant a word of it, and not asked any questions.

But reliving the loss of both of her parents had been painful for her, as he assumed it would be, and tears had started falling by the time he got to the part about the park. He hated every word that left his mouth.

When he had started talking about her mother's death with complete familiarity, all the colour had drained from her face. When he told her that Mycroft had helped with her education, her cheeks had flushed red with anger.

He had told her about her his 'visits', about sending the ginger on his way and about watching her grow up.

He had informed her about _all_ of Mycroft's involvement- interference really- about the manipulation and about rehab.

He had explained everything from the newspaper article to the shock of seeing her that first day in St. Barts.

All of it.

Everything.

Though alcohol had never been his drug of choice, at that moment, Sherlock considered a double whiskey might be quite refreshing.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Do you need a glass of water or…"

"Yes please," she interrupted as she stared at a point across the room. "Water would be good." Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

Sherlock took his time in the kitchen, gathering his wits along with Molly's drink. He assumed that she needed it too: a moment away from him. For all he knew after she told him off for interfering in her life for nearly twenty five years, she would walk out and get as far away from him as she possibly could. Why would she stay?

He had enjoyed three weeks of the life he'd been imagining for so many years. Not to mention two hours of loving her and being loved in return. And now...

What if Mycroft was right? Should he have kept it all to himself?

He closed his eyes, picturing her face from moments before. She'd been hurt and confused to learn that he had known of her since she was eleven years old. Who wouldn't be? But she'd listened, she hadn't stormed out, she hadn't screamed or accused or slapped him (part of him wished she had). She had just sat there stoically, listening as he told her life story from his point of view.

It must have been horrifying to learn that the man she loved had been her one-time stalker, for all intents and purposes, aided by his creepy, omnipresent big brother. And that they had, basically, changed the course of her life. _God… she's going to kill me; they'll never find my body_.

"Sherlock, I actually _did_ want a glass of water," Molly said as she entered the kitchen, startling him out of his thoughts.

She took the glass from his hand. _I didn't even fill it? How long have I been standing here?_ Then she got a bottle from the fridge and poured it full.

Leaning up against the counter, she took a drink. "Hmm." She hummed to herself as dark look marred her lovely features. Then she softened slightly as her eyes traveled to his. "Okay. Well, we have a lot to talk about."

He nodded.

"You don't have a case right now?"

She knew he didn't. "Of course not."

"Can you take tomorrow off… completely?" she asked.

 _To help you move? NO!_ "Yes," he answered.

She drained the rest of the water and put the glass in the sink. "Good. Because we'll be up most of the night." Walking up to him, she put her left hand on his chest. "Give me five minutes then come into the bedroom." She kissed him on the cheek before walking down the hall.

* * *

 _What? I'm sorry... what?_ Sherlock thought as he stood watching Molly's exit. Five minutes wasn't enough time to text John! Not enough time to get some advice and he _hadn't_ gone out for prophylactics as his friend had suggested! It wasn't even enough time to reorient his mind. Besides… _what_?

She should be angry with him. Angry _and_ distrustful! She should be asking questions and demanding to know more. Because there _was_ more. More minute details that he hadn't gone into because he had rushed through it, getting to the worst of his crimes.

He had expected a lot of things, but an invitation into her (his) bedroom was _not_ one of them.

 _Okay, get a hold of yourself, Holmes. The woman you've loved for probably more than half your life is waiting in your bedroom and you're having a damn panic attack in your kitchen like a virgin!_

Taking a deep breath, he tried to centre himself and focus all his energy on the task at hand. _Which is…..?_ his mind questioned. _Whatever the hell Molly Hooper wants!_ he answered himself before walking toward his bedroom.

He knocked.

"I'm ready," she answered.

When he walked in he found Molly sitting at the head of the bed in a pair of ratty pajamas, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. _Okay, this doesn't seem sexual._

"Get your night clothes," she told him.

 _Nope, definitely not sexual._

He did this often, just never when she was in the room. All of his clothes were, of course, still in his room so he always got what he needed when she was in another room, as to not disturb her. "My night clothes?"

"Yes."

"Why? Are we going to bed? It's only 10.30, Molly." He was so confused. And Sherlock Holmes was rarely confused.

"We're getting into bed, yes."

Did she plan on torturing him with vagueness? He didn't ask anymore questions, just went through his drawers, finding a tee shirt and sleep pants. "I'll be, ah, right back," he said as he left the room.

The bathroom offered him no answers, much to his dismay. Perhaps she was going to punish him? But how? And why in his room? In their jammies? By the time he reentered his bedroom he was genuinely perplexed. He found Molly in the same place, her back against his headboard but now her legs were folded underneath her.

She wasn't smiling nor was she frowning, but rather wearing a look of… determination when she said, "Ready?"

"I... suppose." He was still standing in the middle of his room (in his bloody pj's!) awaiting her instruction. Only Molly Hooper could make him feel so vulnerable without angering him at the same time. He owed her this. Whatever retribution she was about to mete out, he'd take it. He deserved it.

"Are you going to sit down?" she asked, sounding a little frustrated.

 _Sit? Good Lord!_ "Where?"

"On the bed, I presume. You could sit in that chair…" She motioned to the plush leather wingback in the corner. "... but we're going to be here a while. I thought you'd want to be comfortable." She rolled her eyes. "Thus the jimjams."

"That chair _is_ comfortable," Sherlock said, though he had no idea why he was defending a piece of furniture.

"Well then sit in the damn thing!"

"What will we be doing, if I may ask?"

"No, you may not!" she bit out.

They stared. For one minute and seventeen seconds, Molly and Sherlock stared at each other. It was very nearly painful.

Finally, Sherlock sat on the end of the bed, facing her, one leg bent, the other on the floor. "Okay. Now what?"

Her posture relaxed and her face softened. "You thought I'd be mad," she said.

What other response was he to expect?

"I'm not."

"I don't understand," he admitted. He could only remember saying those words on four other occasions since he'd left boarding school. "How are you not angry?"

"Let's review, shall we?"

He didn't _want_ to review. He had just relived his deception and didn't want to do it again. But for her…

"You, as a teenager, read about my mum's death and solved it. Correct?"

"Yes."

"You came to Reigate, to confirm your deductions, and saw me and… I intrigued you. That's how this started?"

"Yes."

"Then you brother used me against you for something like ten years?"

It was a very simplistic way of putting it, but correct nevertheless. "Yes."

She sighed. "They told us that she'd killed herself. I thought was my fault. I thought I had done something wrong- made her sad. That's how kids think." She smiled sadly and looked across the room. "I remember that day," she said, looking back at him. She seemed to be holding back tears. "That day you saw me, Sherlock, I remember. It was dad's first day back to work and I didn't want to be alone in the house. I kept waiting for her to come into my room and call me for a meal or just…" Taking a deep breath, she paused before continuing. "So I went to the park. I went there to think. I kept going over the last several weeks- months - trying to figure out what had gone wrong. People don't just kill themselves for no reason. Even at eleven, I knew that." She looked down at her lap. "I don't talk about this for a reason, you know. It's hard."

"Take your time," he said. "We have plenty of it."

She nodded without looking up. "I couldn't come up with an answer. I couldn't find a reason why she'd leave us. We were happy, the three of us. Not wealthy, not poor. Not perfect. But happy. _She_ was happy. I couldn't understand it. I felt so alone and tired. When those kids showed up I bolted. I knew some of them; not exactly a nice group. I didn't want to give them a reason to make fun of Little Molly Hooper, crying by herself, so I moved to the table. Suddenly I felt better. Safe. I felt like I could rest."

A beat passed.

"I'm not saying that I knew you were there. That's… _crazy_. But I did feel better. It was probably just a coincidence." Her face rose and she looked at him.

 _The universe is rarely so lazy_ , was all he could think as they locked eyes.

"Anyway," she said as she shook herself out of the moment. "A few days later some police officers showed up explaining that there was new information, that they believed my mum had been murdered." Tears welled up in her eyes again, this time she couldn't hold them back. She wasn't sobbing, however; this time she was almost calmly weeping. "Sherlock, that day changed my life. That's when I decided to become a pathologist."

" _What_?"

Suddenly she seemed to get her second wind; wiping her tears away with her hand, she said, "They took us to the police station and we met the detectives who were working on the case. The cops didn't want me to come, but I insisted. Dad told them that I'd been through a lot and that I could handle it. While we were in the room with the detectives and they were going over some details with my dad, this woman came in. She was introduced as a pathologist. I believe, now that I know what happened, that she probably worked for MI6. The detectives weren't overly familiar with her. And if the first autopsy was completed incorrectly, your brother most likely sent someone else to do the second. Wouldn't you? The local ME clearly got it wrong if a fifteen year old kid, albeit a brilliant one, figured it out from an article in the paper." Molly said this with a surprising smile, making Sherlock feel warm with pride for his fifteen year old self.

"She spoke to my father about exhuming mum's remains so that she could perform another autopsy. Dad signed the paperwork then spoke with the detectives, asking more questions. While everyone else was distracted, I pulled the woman to the side."

"You were eleven years old and you pulled aside some stranger who cut open dead bodies?" He didn't know why he was surprised; he really should have expected it from her.

"I had seen my mum buried, Sherlock. I thought her body was gone forever, and now this woman was going to dig her up to find out what had really happened to her. I was fascinated," she explained. "I asked her how they would do it, how they were going to dig Mum back up. She explained how they went about exhumation, after a nod from my father. Then I asked what she was going to do to figure out who had killed my mum. Once again, she looked at my dad. He smiled. For the first time since Mum died, my dad smiled and said 'Go ahead. My Molly's a genius.' I'll never forget those words and the way he said them." Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she talked about her dad. "He was so proud."

Sherlock got up and grabbed a box of tissues off of his chest of drawers, handing them to her. When he sat back down he made sure it was close enough for their legs to touch.

"Thanks," she said before cleaning her face.

"Do you need more water?" he asked.

"No, I'm okay." She took a deep breath. "Three days later we were moved to Bracknell but the detectives kept us informed about the case. The pathologist, her name was Susan Caldwell... That's another thing I'll never forget," she added almost to herself. "She came to the house after the case was solved. There was no trial, I'm sure you knew that. The killer pled guilty. But as I was saying, she came to our new house and talked to me. She told me what I'd need to focus on if I wanted to go into the medical field and especially pathology."

Molly reached out and took Sherlock's hand. "Don't you see? You solved my mother's murder, eased my mind and set me on the path of the career that I love, Sherlock. You were fifteen, you were just a kid and you made all the difference."

"I was a kid when it started, Molly, but I continued to…" He huffed in frustration. "I fucking stalked you."

"Yeah, I know. But not with the intent to harm me or even pursue me. I know how your mind works. It's obsessive and focused and driven. Once you get an idea in your head, it's there. Unmoving." She smiled. "You were heavy-handed, imposing and downright creepy in some ways, but you changed my life. I can't say it wasn't for the better."

"You don't hate me?" he asked, hating the sound of his own voice at that moment. He sounded weak and desperate. But he had built this up in his head, convinced that she would never forgive him. He had to know.

"Of course not," she said as she reached up and stroked his cheek. "I could never _hate_ you. But, no more secrets, Sherlock. I mean it."

"No more."

"Your brother, though, he has a lot to answer for."

"He does," he agreed.

"He used me to manipulate you. He is… _complicated_ , isn't he?"

Sherlock sighed. "That's putting it nicely."

Suddenly, Molly got an odd look on her face like she was working something out. He let her continue for several minutes while he held her hand and thought over what she had told him. As he watched her, he tried to decide if he could handle this amount of happiness. She had forgiven him _and_ she wanted him.

She loved him.

Several minutes passed, Molly clearly lost in thought and Sherlock equally deep in his own mind. He was allowing all his tightly held fantasies to run wild.

A future.

A family.

A life.

A…

"Sherlock," Molly said, pulling him from his musing. "He didn't stop."

"What?"

"Mycroft. He's still manipulating us," she added cautiously.

"I'm aware of this, Molly," he said. "Your doctors, your flat, also, I should mention…"

"And… it's not just him."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think I should tell you where I was going the day of the accident…"

* * *

They stayed up late into the night talking, comparing notes and experiences, basically compiling a list of grievances against _The British Government & Associates_. He hadn't been even slightly surprised by what Molly had told him; he had basically worked that part of the equation out on his own, but only recently. They had some theories and some cold hard facts. But by one am Molly was exhausted and her hand hurt, so she went to the bathroom then came back and took a pain pill before getting into bed.

As Sherlock was leaving the room, she called out, " _Oi!_ Where do you think you're going?"

"To bed?"

"This _is_ your bed. Get in and mind my hand," she said with a smirk.

He wasted no time as he walked back to the bed and got under the covers. "Are you sure?"

"It's one in the morning and I just took my pill. I'll be out in minutes. If you fancied shagging me while I was in a coma, you had your chance. Now cuddle me, I'm cold."

Scooting closer, he molded himself to her back, snaking his arms around her waist. She certainly didn't _feel_ cold. "Are you anemic or something?"

"I have a slow metabolism," she mumbled.

"You have a warm bum."

Molly laughed and wiggled her bottom against his crotch.

" _Watch it,_ " he warned. "You're about to be asleep and I'll be _up_ the rest of the night. Literally."

"Sorry."

"Somehow, I don't think you are."

She sighed contentedly and reached up, lacing the fingers of her left hand with his where they rested on the pillow. "Night, Sherlock."

"Sleep well, Molly." He kissed her cheek.

He wasn't tired; his mind still raced with the day's events. So instead of sleeping, he thought back to the day they had met- actually met- for the first time. Now that she was lying in his arms he could do so with no pit in his stomach.

 _His brother, after multiple attempts to recruit him into his own full-time service had failed, finally put Sherlock in contact with a DI at Scotland Yard. Lestrade's poorly staffed department often found themselves out of their depths and, when they did, would come to Sherlock for assistance._

 _Shortly following his first trip to St. Bartholomew's to view a body, he asked Mycroft to make arrangements for him to have access to (ie: full use of) their labs and morgue. His brother seemed more than happy to comply. The bureaucrat had had to find better ways of controlling Sherlock since his interest in Molly had waned._

 _He had last seen her the day he'd left rehab..._

 _o0o0o0o_

" _Take me to her," he told his brother as soon as they were seated in the car._

" _Is that wise?" Mycroft asked._

 _Sherlock turned, his head completely clear and perfectly focused, and said, "It is, dear brother. See, I learned something in that touchy-feely hell-hole you put me in. Talk therapy may be pointless drivel, but they_ did _make a couple of good points. Some things need to be put to bed. Completely. You won't control me anymore, Mycroft. You won't use her to manipulate me. I will see her one last time, then put an end to that part of my life. Is that clear?"_

 _Mycroft nodded and instructed the driver to take them to Imperial College London._

 _His brother waited in the car._

 _Sherlock followed as she went from organic chemistry to the library. She searched for about five minutes before finding the book she was looking for, then sat down and started reading. She certainly looked better than she had at her father's funeral. University agreed with Molly Hooper._

 _While in rehab, Sherlock had made a plan. He was going to do this, say goodbye, then get back to his life. He would concentrate on work and nothing else. No more drugs, no more Molly. Ten minutes, he had told himself. No more than ten minutes observing the woman who_ was _his past before he focused on starting his future. So in those ten minutes, he soaked her in. He committed her every detail to memory._

 _Molly bit her lip as she as she made a note. Her hair was longer._ No make-up today. _She looked rested._ Good. _He was tempted to get her grades from Mycroft, but he was done with this obsession, and that meant frequent updates about her schooling._ I'm sure she's at the top of her class. But what if she's struggling…? No. This is over _._

 _Standing, Sherlock took one last look at the woman, bid her a silent goodbye, then walked out of her life without ever speaking to her._

 _o0o0o0o_

 _He was much more focused on The Work since letting go of his obsession with Molly Hooper. Having made the decision to_ never _let sentiment cloud his judgment in such a way again, Sherlock was singularly focused on solving crimes and honing the science of deduction without the use of outside aids or stimulants._

 _He had been using the facilities at St. Barts for nearly a year when Mike Stamford told him that he'd hired a new pathologist and that she'd be starting the following day. He didn't really give it another thought as he made his way to the lifts._

 _Four days later, however, when he came in to look at the body of a forty-nine year old machinist, his world tilted on its axis._

" _Ah, this is good timing," Mike said and even though Sherlock heard him, he could only see the young doctor in front of him. Nothing else existed. "This is Dr. Molly Hooper, the new pathologist I was telling you about. Molly this is Sherlock Holmes."_

 _She stepped toward him, her hand extended, and smiled, that same sweet smile he hadn't seen in so many years. "Hullo," she said._

 _Sherlock just openly stared, gaped really._ How can she be here? How… what? This isn't happening. Why is she here?

" _Ah, Sherlock?" Mike's voice pulled him out of his shocked state._

" _Yes, sorry, I was in the middle of a deduction," he said in a rush._

" _Oh, of course," Mike laughed, then turned to Molly. "He does that." He winked._

 _Sherlock finally accepted her extended hand, touching her for the first time ever. He was afraid she'd feel him shaking._ Why am I shaking? I haven't thought about her in… _He tried to do the math, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. "Hopper, is it?" he asked._ I'm a prick.

" _Hooper, actually. But you can call me Molly, it's fine."_

 _He nodded. "Molly."_

" _And should I call you Sherlock? Mike says we might be seeing a lot of each other."_

Someone is going to die! " _That'll do." He forced himself to look away from her and turn toward Mike. "Lestrade said you have a body for me."_

" _Right. Molly can pull him. If you need anything, you know where my office is. Oh, and Sherlock?"_

" _What?"_

" _Don't run her off. She's almost as smart as you." With that warning, Mike left._

 _As they traveled down to the morgue, Sherlock pulled out his mobile and pretended to be busy. Which was ridiculous since he had no service in the lifts, but his mind was a mess. He couldn't talk to her, not without carefully forming a plan first. Thankfully it was a quick trip._

 _Once she'd pulled the body and he actually had something to focus on, his mind started to settle and the deductions took over:_ smoker, heavy drinker, diabetic, twice divorced, raised show… cats? Huh?

" _So, Mike says you work with the police?" Molly said, drawing his attention._

 _Most people said_ for _, rather than_ with… " _Mike said that? With?" He didn't look up from the body on the slab._

" _Ah, I can't remember exactly how he worded it. But I'm guessing that you don't work_ for _them."_

Don't look up! No matter how clever she is, do **not** look up! " _Why would you say that?"_

" _Well, you're plain clothes, but he didn't introduce you as Detective Holmes. He said Sherlock Holmes. The Yard doesn't hire private detectives, so even if you are one, you're not being paid. You work_ with _them, not_ for _them."_

 _Halfway through her deduction, because yes she was deducing him, dammit! he looked up…_

 _His mouth went dry as she took him in from head to toe before speaking again._ " _You're dressed quite well, so it's not as if you_ need _the money. Mike says you're brilliant, so..." A look of realisation lit up her face. "This is for science! Some kind of study. You do this because you enjoy it. Am I right?"_

Marry me and have all my babies! " _That was… remarkably close."_

 _She smiled and blushed._

" _Now, if you'll excuse me…"_

" _Sorry, I just… I got carried away there. Go ahead." She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and walked across the room._

 _He finished as fast as he could, thanked her and left. After a quick trip to NSY he headed straight for the Diogenes Club to kick his brother's arse._

" _Why?!" he asked, completely exasperated. "Why did you do this to me? I was over her… over the whole thing!"_

" _I had a promise to keep, Sherlock."_

" _What are you talking about?"_

" _I promised that if you stayed clean that I'd see to it that she had the job she'd always wanted." He raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome."_

" _God, you are the biggest arsehole in the world!"_ _Sherlock had to keep his hands on his hips in order to keep from punching his brother_ _._

" _What? Suddenly you don't want what's best for her?"_

" _I haven't thought about her in years!"_

" _I have a hard time believing that, Sherlock, given how you've always felt about her."_

" _That part of my life is over, Mycroft, at your encouragement! I care nothing for sentiment or women or…"_

" _Then I see no problem. Dr. Hooper will be a competent assistant to you in St. Bartholomews. You will continue to solve your little puzzles and help out the detective inspector. Nothing changes."_

" _I don't know why you've done this, but you know damn well that this changes_ _ **everything**_ _!" Sherlock growled._

 _His brother answered him with a raised eyebrow and silence._

 _Sherlock left Mycroft's office that day with a sick feeling in his stomach. Something was coming, he just didn't know what it was. A month later he met John Watson. And during the case with the pink woman, he heard a name that would haunt him for years to come. Moriarity. After meeting the psychopath that night in the pool, he finally understood his brother's game. He understood why Molly Hooper had suddenly shown up in his life after so many years._

 _Somehow, Mycroft knew. He knew and had placed Molly back in Sherlock's life on purpose._

 _Though he hadn't done it in years, after leaving the pool that night, Sherlock walked to Molly Hooper's home, taking the longest most unplottable route possible. He had very deliberately stayed away, old habits and all. But after realising how close she had been to James Moriarty, he had to see her. And this time he wouldn't be watching from afar._

" _Oh, Sherlock. What are you doing here? How do you even know…"_

" _Jim, your boyfriend, Jim, did you break up with him?" he interrupted._

 _Her cheeks flashed red but at the moment he couldn't care about her embarrassment. "Ah, yes. After… wh-what you said." She looked away. "I asked him about his number and…"_

" _How did he act?"_

 _A little line formed between her eyes as she gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"_

 _He huffed. "When you broke things off, Molly, how did he act?"_

" _Fine, I suppose. Just laughed and said 'it was fun'. Sherlock, what's this about?"_

" _Nothing. At least I don't believe so."_

" _Well, it can't be nothing if you're at my flat in the middle of the night."_

" _You need to stay away from him, do you understand me?"_

" _I had planned on it. I figure he's some creepy stalker of yours. Am I right?"_

" _Something like that. Goodnight, Molly," he said, as he left. He spent most of the night in the alley behind her building until his brother's agent showed up at three am._ Finally _. Looking at the man, Sherlock nodded before making his way home._

* * *

 _Okay, there you have it. I know some people won't agree with Molly's reaction. But I always intended for her to take it in stride, considering her own point of view and the intervening ten years of knowing Sherlock. There are still several more chapters to go (and more secrets). Please let me know what you think. Thanks so much for reading._


	8. Two Awkward Moments

_I had the hardest time titling this chapter (see a/n at the end for the lame title it originally had_ : ( _No flashback in this time, but I give you some awkward sexual interaction instead._ ; ) _I know everyone wants to see where Molly was going, but we don't find out in this chapter. Sorry. Don't hate me. It's coming though. Promise!_

 _Thank you all for your support and, of course, thanks to MizJoely and MrsMCrieff for their help. Any and all mistakes are mine._

 _ **Sex warning** \- Okay, I had a couple of PM's about **not** keeping the adult content. I decided to keep it. If you are not interested in reading Sherlock and Molly's sexy time, just go to the first horizontal line in the story and read from there. Thanks! ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- Two Awkward Moments (and one wonderful one) -**

They slept in, unsurprising after such a late and emotional night. Sherlock woke up slowly realising where he was and, more importantly, who was in his arms. Glancing at his bedside clock, he saw that it was after ten. Molly had rolled partially onto her back, her right arm resting on her stomach. Her head was on Sherlock's left shoulder. He had shifted and was basically half underneath the sleeping woman. It didn't look comfortable for her, and he was hot and a little sweaty where their bodies touched.

Nevertheless, it felt right.

 _Speaking of feeling…_ If he wasn't careful, she was about to feel his erection pressed up against her buttocks.

Carefully, he rolled her onto her side, laying her injured hand on the bed then slipping out to use the loo. After a quick (cold) shower, he tiptoed back into the bedroom, with a towel slung around his hips, to grab his clothes. He had assumed that Molly would still be sleeping. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it), he found her in the middle of changing clothes.

Her back was turned to him, and she was only wearing a pair of aqua coloured knickers as she fastened her bra.

He froze; unable to do anything but stare. Her back was flawless. The rest of the room blanked out; all he could see was soft ivory skin, smooth, shapely legs and an arse that… _Sweet fuck_ … he wanted to touch that arse!

The icy water of the shower suddenly forgotten, Sherlock felt heat engulfing him as he took in the sight in front of him.

It took a millisecond for him to realise that she had turned around. An awkward little squeak left her mouth kickstarting his brain. Well, sort of...

" _I want to touch you_ ," he growled before he could stop himself, his eyes still focused on her body. It was even better than he had imagined. Lovely breasts, a flat stomach… and just behind a tiny pair of knickers... _yes, there's Molly Hooper's vagina..._

Reality hit when he glanced up at her face… remembering that she indeed _had_ a face. "S-s-sorry," he stammered, turning around towards the door. "I thought you'd be asleep. I came for clothes. For dressing in my clothes because I only have this towel and, of course, I need clothes or I'll be not... clothed." As he shut his eyes and rested his head on the cool wood of the door he vaguely recalled his first reaction to a naked woman when he was sixteen. He had been leaps and bounds less fumbling and awkward than he was at the moment, in his own bloody bedroom, with Molly Bloody Hooper!

Probably because of the blood rushing in his ears, he didn't hear her walk up behind him whilst he tried to compose himself. " _Okay…_ " she said in a breathy whisper.

"Okay?" he questioned, not knowing what the hell 'okay' was supposed to mean. Then he felt her hand on his back. It started near his left hip and slowly traveled up to his shoulderblade.

"Sherlock?" she said before he felt her lips on the middle of his back.

He hissed as his cock continued to harden. The towel would hide nothing at this point.

"Turn around, Sherlock."

 _So not a good idea._ "Molly…"

"Touch me," she said, her lips still touching his back.

The kisses the night before were nothing compared to the two of them, barely dressed, standing just feet away from his bed…

"Sherlock…"

Though he had teased her about it, he hadn't really considered it as he lay curled around her just a few hours before. He couldn't, because if he had…

"Turn around."

He had to do something.

And finally, he did.

"I'm at a bit of a disadvantage," she said, holding up her right hand. "I, ah, don't want to hurt you." Her lilting little smile made his stomach lurch.

"We can wait," he said.

"I know."

"Or…"

"Yes?" Her eyes were wide and hopeful and so fucking sexy.

He wasn't sure if he could actually do it, _be there for her_ without blowing his load like a horny teen… but he could try. He _really_ wanted to try.

Placing his hands on either side of her face, he pulled her closer. "I want to touch you and taste you, if…"

" _Oh God yes_ ," she breathed.

Her enthusiasm was adorably encouraging. "You don't have to return the favour. I want this, Molly."

Biting her lip, she nodded as she snaked her arm around his back, pulling him closer. When his erection bumped against her stomach she said, "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to return the favour?" Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

He closed his mouth onto hers instead of answering because, really, he _did_ want those lips around his cock. For the moment, however, a kiss would do. Slipping his tongue past her teeth, he moaned as she greeted him eagerly, skillfully. Kissing for Sherlock had always been a means to an end: get her into bed, get their cooperation, fake it for a case. This was kissing for the pure pleasure of kissing. Sucking on her bottom lip, he nibbled at the abused flesh. She had a nasty habit of biting of it and he decided that it was his job now.

As he broke the kiss, he slid his hands over her shoulders, skimming the straps of her bra. "I'd like to see you. May I?" he asked as his fingers found the clasps of the undergarment.

"Of course."

It was gone in a matter of seconds, tossed on his floor and forgotten. His eyes were drawn down to her breasts, his mouth watering at the sight.

 _What is it about breasts?_ he wondered. He knew the answer, of course. All men did. The first taste of nourishment every infant longs for and every heterosexual male continues to look for, something primal in them reaching out, seeking hidden wonders, taut, bunched flesh and ultimately... Perfection.

Cupping her small, firm breasts in both hands, he held them, memorising them, their weight, their colour, the texture of her skin. Looking up, he found Molly's eyes wide, dilated with desire and fixed on him. " _My God you're lovely_ ," he whispered as his thumbs simultaneously skimmed both nipples.

Her eyes closed at his touch and she arched into his hands. _Sensitive? Good!_ She was so expressive as he rolled the buds between his fingers, watching her face change with each new movement. Her good hand was holding tightly to his shoulder as if to steady herself as Sherlock lowered his head to her throat.

Closing his lips around her carotid artery, he felt the beat of her heart. It was hard and fast, much like his at that moment. He sucked, pulling skin into his mouth and nibbling just a bit, unsure how she would feel about a mark on her neck after so recently having healed from most of her visible injuries.

Molly moaned, moving her hand to the back of his head, her nails digging into his scalp. Sherlock bit harder as he moved one hand down to cup her bottom… her lovely, lovely bottom. He knew he was marking this time, but she clearly wanted it; the harder he bit, the louder she moaned. Finally, she called out his name, her body shuddering against his; he could feel the sharp points of her nipples against his chest. She had very nearly come. _Gods, she's perfect…_ He needed to touch her, to feel how wet she was.

He pulled away and inspected his work. _Mine_. She was his, undoubtedly, now. Marked and claimed. "Lie down for me?"

Molly nodded but didn't move, just continued to stare up at him. Sherlock smirked as he took her hand in his, leading her to the bed. Once she was on her back, he tightened his towel and sat on the edge next to her.

"I've thought about this so many times," he said as he traced a path from the love bite he'd just made, between her breasts, down to her navel. "Thought about you. Imagined us in this bed." He spread his hand out, so large that it spanned nearly her whole waist. Then he had a wicked idea. "Have you, Molly? Have you ever imagined us… together?"

She laughed, a hearty, dirty laugh. "You're kidding me, right?" She leant up on her elbows. "You've been the starring attraction in my fantasies since the day we met, Sherlock. You have already given me _so_ many orgasms."

"Bet you've given me more," he replied with a smirk, reaching lower, cupping her through her knickers.

She dropped back to the mattress with a bounce. Sherlock watched her breasts do a delightful little jiggle, then he lowered himself to capture one upturned point in his mouth. He moaned around her salty flesh as she gripped his thigh. Then suddenly he wished that he had gotten into bed on the _other_ side. Molly's hand sneaked underneath his towel, inching toward his hard cock. _Fuck_! he thought as she found her mark. She had gotten _really_ good with her left hand!

"Molly," he groaned, looking up to find her head tossed back, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Just touch me, Sherlock. It won't take much."

 _You and me both_. He hadn't realised how close he was until her warm hand had engulfed him. He had to hurry up or he was going to get there before her! Sliding his hand into her pants, Sherlock found her wet little clit already hard for him. Circling it several times, he watched her reaction before slipping his fingers lower. Molly's hips bucked toward his hand as he entered her and she fisted him even tighter. She then drew her hand up his shaft, her thumb rubbing the head, spreading pre-cum down the length. He wanted to fuck her so badly, wanted to be inside her, on top of her… not just his fingers- his hand, but…

"Oh fuck! Sherlock, I'm close!" she called out, her hips chasing his hand every time he withdrew.

He used his thumb to add stimulation to her clit as he panted, seconds away from finishing in her hand. "I want to see you come, Molly," he encouraged, proud that he could form actual words at the moment. "God, I can't wait to fuck you!"

He felt her fluttering against his digit as her mouth formed a perfect little O of pleasure. She didn't make a sound for several seconds, then his name spilled from her lips like a prayer as she collapsed around his fingers. Her grip never loosened, however, never wavered. His Molly was one hell of a multitasker. As soon as her orgasm passed, she picked up right where she'd left off, stroking him beautifully, pushing him toward his orgasm. He only lasted a few seconds, then he was spilling himself in her hand, soiling his towel and grunting her name.

It was intense. Far more intense than a hand job should have been. He assumed it was because of who that hand was attached to.

"God, Sherlock… that… that was… yeah," she said, a goofy smile on her lips.

"Well said." He used his towel to clean off her hand. "That didn't go as I had planned."

"Ah, sorry."

He chuckled as he leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers. Smiling, he placed a series of small kisses that followed the outline of her lips, lingering slightly at the corners. "I'll try and forgive you. But I find that I need another shower. Unless you need the bathroom first?"

"No, no. You go ahead. I need coffee and new knickers. Though, not necessarily in that order."

* * *

He wasn't sure what he expected after their first sexual encounter, maybe awkwardness? Or perhaps shy, nervous smiles? Possibly even some regret (on her part, not his). But no, his Molly would have none of that…

He found her in the sitting room, two mugs of coffee on the table in front of her, her laptop on her knees. "Can I ask you some questions?" she asked, closing her computer and putting it on the table.

"Of course," Sherlock answered.

"Why were you so horrid to me when we first met?" She picked up her coffee. "You said last night you were shocked, I get that, but you were cruel at times…"

 _Bugger…_ "When I saw you..." he started, then took a deep breath. "No, further back. I have to go… " He took a drink of his coffee (perfectly prepared, of course) in order to have a moment to regroup and consider his response.

"While at rehab I made a decision, Molly. I decided to put you out of my mind. I had conquered drugs- felt like I had at least," he clarified. "But you, I had to stop my obsession." He paused, trying to properly word his explanation. "Back then, you and drugs… they were linked. I didn't take drugs _because_ of you, understand, that's not what I'm saying. But…" He felt like he was tripping over his own tongue. Switching from sex (near sex? mutual masturbation?) to 'why I was an arse to you for the first two years of our association?' was proving too quick of a pivot.

Then he felt Molly's hand on his knee. "It actually makes sense," she said. "How old were you when you started using?"

"Seventeen."

"Two years after…"

"Yes."

"Exactly."

He must have looked at her with some confusion, though he hadn't intended it.

"I assume I don't have to draw you a map, Sherlock. You created an alternative reality- a fake history for yourself to replace what your sister had done. Redbeard was a dog, not your friend. Your sister never existed- she was never born."

"What does that have to do with you and drugs?"

She sighed, looking sadly resigned. "You have a history of hiding," she said softly. "It's something you learned at an early age. Far too early."

Sherlock stared, unsure how to respond.

"You hide, Sherlock. You hide by making false realities, by creating a mind palace, by losing yourself in puzzles and crimes... by getting high. You've been hiding since you were a little boy," she said, taking his hand. Then she added, "In one way or another."

Taking in her words- really letting them penetrate- he felt the weight of them. He wasn't blameless, not by any means. But he was, once again, faced with the fact that his family had _allowed_ him to believe the lies he had told himself. They had _let_ him create a fantasy world and it had shaped the rest of his life.

What would have happened if he had remembered his sister's actions?

What would he have become?

Was this the lesser of two evils?

Were they afraid of him becoming like her?

He had considered these questions, and many more, after discovering the existence of Eurus, then put them firmly into the 'to analyze later' file in his mind. He had never analyzed them later. What was the point? What was done, was done. His parents had made mistakes, Mycroft had made mistake, he himself had made mistakes. Everyone needed to move on.

And then he'd almost lost the one person who mattered most. He looked up at Molly; concern was etched on her face. "I'm okay," he assured her. Because he was. He would be. "I think I need to talk to my dad."

"Not…"

"No. Not about this. But…" he trailed off, not quite ready to deal with _that_ elephant at the moment.

He could see the understanding on her face. _One thing at a time,_ it said. "So, are we going to confront Mycroft or conspire against him?" A small smile formed at the edge of her lips. His Molly knew when to move on.

"Well, let's look at the pros and cons, shall we? Conspiring could be _so_ much fun and quite satisfying. However, it would be stooping to his level."

Molly laughed. "As if that's ever bothered you before."

Picking up his coffee, he nodded his agreement. "Indeed."

"If I'm honest, I'd love to tell him off," she said. "And pop him with his brolly!"

He smirked into his mug.

"However…"

"Oh, here it comes," he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

" _However_ , it seems that most everything he did was out of love for you. I _do_ understand worrying for your wellbeing."

"Yet, he used you - your grief, your safety, your... _wellbeing -_ to bend me to his will."

"To get you clean," Molly countered.

Sherlock scoffed. "And it never really worked, did it? I've used since my last stint in rehab."

"Perhaps it did, to some extent," she argued.

He raised an eyebrow.

"How do we know that he didn't save you from an overdose? He dangled me in front of you like a carrot on a string, exchanging information or assisting me for a trip to rehab or fieldwork? You had to be clean when you worked for him, right?"

"Most of the time," he answered vaguely. He could always find ways to use but preferred to be clean when dealing with the government.

"I'm not saying it wasn't underhanded, that it wasn't… _wrong_. But I'm not family, I was expendable. And, knowing Mycroft, he probably thought the good he was doing me outweighed the manipulation and lies."

"You mean like lying to our whole family about the continuing existence of my psychopathic sister?"

"Precisely. Lying is sort of his version of golf. He really needs a better hobby...maybe macrame or needlepoint?"

Sherlock laughed, just as they heard a knock on the door downstairs. Moments later Mrs. Hudson was at the apartment door ushering Molly's ex-fiancé into the sitting room.

* * *

 _Well this is awkward_ , Sherlock thought as he looked at the gangly man in front of him. _Oh, and with that look on his face, it's about to get worse..._

"Look who I found," Mrs. Hudson said, her eyes moving from Tom to Molly and finally to Sherlock. The woman was clearly enthralled, watching the scene like it was one of her programmes.

He raised an eyebrow. "Thomas, how interesting that you would show up today, of all days," Sherlock said mockingly as he stood. "Have you come to bare your soul to Molly or beg her to take you back. Or perhaps both?"

"What?" Molly asked.

"I'll just leave you kids to… _whatever_ this is," Mrs. Hudson said before turning and hurrying out the door, though not shutting it. Sherlock was well aware of the fact that she would be listening at the foot of the stairs.

"Wait a minute," Molly said, standing and walking toward Tom. " _Bare your soul_?" She got a horrified look on her face as she turned back to Sherlock. "When did you know?" she growled.

"Well, it was one of the theories I was keeping to myself until I could confirm it. But he proved it by showing up. And that look on his face…" He pointed to Tom. "... tells me everything else I needed to know. But why today? Why suddenly show up now?" The question was rhetorical, really. Mycroft obviously knew that the proverbial jig was up.

Molly turned back to her ex. "You're an agent!? You were my detail, weren't you? But then… eww, Tom, you seduced me!"

"Molly…" he started as he walked toward her.

"This is like a really creepy version of _The Bodyguard!"_ she said with a shudder as she jerked away from him.

"I fell in love with you, Molly! I didn't mean to, but I did!" Tom said desperately.

"You were being _paid…_ to protect me while we dated and screwed and then… then you proposed! It was all part of the plan, wasn't it?! Did Mycroft pay you to keep me away from Sherlock? Tell me _now_!"

"Well, actually… I was just supposed to keep you safe…until..." It seemed he couldn't finish the sentence. Sherlock, unfortunately, had already deduced the rest.

"And the fact that you just _happen_ to resemble him?"

Tom's eyes fell to the floor. "Mr. Holmes had me change the way I dressed."

She was confused and livid. Sherlock was almost afraid for the agent.

He stepped up, slipping an arm around her waist. "Have a seat, Molly. I have a feeling that this will be a long conversation."

She did, and Sherlock sat down next to her, keeping his arm protectively around his shoulder.

"I believe you owe us both an explanation," Sherlock said calmly.

The other man put his hands on his hips and faced the couple on the sofa. "I was a researcher, I'd only been with MI6 for three months. My supervisor came to me and told me I had been reassigned. The next day I reported to Mr. Holmes, first thing. He told me he had an easy assignment for me, that it would advance me quickly and get me out of research. I jumped at the chance."

"What was the assignment?" Molly bit out. "Speak slowly and give me details."

"Date you. Make you fall for me," he replied in a small voice. "Mr. Holmes said it would be easy since I looked like him." He pointed to Sherlock. "But like I said, he made me change my clothes. Bought me a whole new wardrobe."

"I'd like to point out that you really don't _look_ like me. We're both tall, yes, and..."

"Not now, Sherlock," Molly snapped at him, then turned her attention back to the man in front of her. "What else?"

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, looking panicked.

"Were you instructed to fuck me? Was that part of your assignment?"

"Molly…"

"No, Tom. I've heard enough!" She started to get up.

"There's more," Sherlock said, putting a hand on her thigh to calm her (and claim her, if he was honest). "May I?" he asked, to no one in particular. Getting up, he paced to the windows. "You broke up with, Molly, though you didn't want to. I deduced that you genuinely loved her the first time we met." He turned, facing the other man.

"My assignment ended."

Sherlock nodded and motioned with his hand for the agent to continue.

"I didn't want break up with you," he said to Molly. "I… I loved you. He threatened to fire me if I didn't."

Sherlock picked up the story, "So you said you'd quit. You told my brother that you cared more about Molly than your job." He laughed. "Sorry, that was the wrong card to play."

Tom nodded.

"What did he say to you, Tom?" the detective asked.

Tom looked at Molly with abject misery in his eyes. "He told me that I'd never be enough. That you would never love me like you loved Sherlock. He told me he had been orchestrating this for years and I was just a placeholder meant to protect you-to keep you safe until he returned."

" _Oh my God_ ," she whispered.

"I signed so many confidentiality agreements..."

"He also timed the breakup _just_ right," Sherlock interjected. "I was deep in the CAM situation. He tried to use your newly single status to distract me away from the case."

"It didn't work," Molly interjected.

"Of course it didn't work. If Magnussen had ever figured out about your importance to me, he would have had even more ammunition to use against me. I stayed away deliberately after the two of you ended things. Oh, he really had to work at this one," Sherlock said as he paced. "This one was done seamlessly." He turned back to the woman near the settee. "I looked into him." He pointed at Tom. "He has a history, a CV, a complete identity." He smirked. "My brother must have been _so_ bored whilst I was away."

" _Sherlock…_ " Molly admonished.

"Right, sorry," he said as he walked back towards the window. He had a lot to think about, but he kept an eye on the agent standing next to Molly.

"I never meant to hurt you and I _did_ love you." Tom smiled sadly. "I still do."

"That's not good enough."

Suddenly, Sherlock felt like he was intruding on Molly (ironic, considering their past). He turned back to the window, giving the former couple a moment to say goodbye.

"I know it's not."

"I wish you the best, but…" she started.

"Goodbye, Molly," he said before turning and leaving.

A moment later Sherlock felt a hand on his back and glanced down to see Molly looking up at him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She sighed. "Will you hold me?"

"Course," he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his chest.

"What are we gonna do, Sherlock?"

"We? Nothing. I, however, am going to have a chat with my big brother."

* * *

 _Right, so I was going to call this chapter: 'I Will Always Love Hugh'. But I_ realised _that I was only amusing myself with the Whitney Houston/Bodyguard reference... Anyhoo, hope you liked it. Please let me know. Thanks so much for reading! ~Lil~_


	9. My Brother's Keeper's Keeper

_So, so sorry that it took me ages to update this story... I got distracted_ **; )** _Thank you all for reading this and for everyone who voted for me in the SAMFA's. This story got 2nd place in M/E Best Sherlock! I'm so pleased! Of course, I have to thank MizJoley for betaing this and giving wonderful advice. But all the mistakes belong to me!_

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 9 - My Brother's Keeper's Keeper -**

Sherlock found Mycroft at his townhouse. He didn't seem the least bit surprised to see the younger man.

"Afternoon, Sherlock. Please come in," the elder Holmes said as he directed his brother into the foyer. "Can I get you anything?"

"No."

"I've been expecting you, you know. I thought you'd bring Molly along. Did you have a nice visit with Tom?" he asked as they reached his study.

"Molly wanted to come, but she also understood that you and I needed to talk first. Don't think that you're out of the woods, Mycroft, she will have her piece of you." He sat down on the leather settee and crossed his legs.

"And Molly's forgiven you… for everything?"

"She has." Sherlock saw the relief on his brother's face, though it was only there for a split second.

"Remarkable… I never thought…" He trailed off as he crossed to the credenza. "You don't mind if I have a drink, do you?"

"That's probably a good idea, actually. You might want a double."

After pouring himself a scotch (neat), Mycroft sat in the high backed chair next to Sherlock. "All right, I'm ready, Sherlock. I suppose this was twenty years in the making, so let me have it."

Sherlock studied his big brother for several seconds, letting him sweat (though he wasn't, of course), then he leant forward, his elbows on his knees and said, "She's here, isn't she?"

Mycroft's façade quickly dropped; he instantly looked twenty years older. "Yes."

"Then I need to see her."

"She wanted me to talk to you first. She had an entrance planned."

"Of course she did," Sherlock scoffed. "I'm not talking to you about this when it was her doing."

"I played my part, you know that."

"Yes. Guilt will make us do many things, won't it, Mycroft? Oh, don't get me wrong, you're far from innocent in this mess, nor am I. But we were both manipulated in one way or another and by our own…"

"Sherlock!" her voice rang out loud and clear from the doorway of the study. "I did what I did because I love you both."

He rose and squared on the woman. "You have a strange way of showing it, you know that? You used her! You hurt her! You hurt me and Myc!" He hadn't meant to lose his cool so quickly, but seeing her had set him off.

"And you didn't hurt us?" she spat back with venom. "Pushing those needles into your veins? Getting high in filthy drug houses? Disappearing for weeks at a time? We were trying to our best to help!"

"But this started long before the drugs, didn't it, _Mummy_?" he said as he approached her.

She looked down, straightening her blouse.

"I was fifteen when this started. You let me obsess over a _child_ , encouraged it through Mycroft. Encouraged it yourself on occasion, if memory serves."

"It was healthier than some of your other pursuits!"

"Most people send their troubled children to therapy," he mumbled as he stepped away from her.

"You refused to go! You were the single most obstinate child ever born! If you didn't want to do something, you simply didn't" his mother argued. "Besides, not one of those damn doctors ever made any headway with Eurus. You'll excuse me if I don't have much faith in psychotherapy."

"And then you saw an opportunity. A golden one. Use Molly as a reward when I did what you wanted me to do. 'Go to uni, Sherlock. We'll make sure Mr. Hooper gets the loan for his business'," this he said to his brother.

"Sherl…" Mummy tried to interject, but he wouldn't allow it.

His head whipped back towards the woman. "'Stay in one more semester and Molly will get into the accelerated summer science programme.'" Looking at his mum but pointing at his brother he said, "He pulled me out of a smack house to take me to her secondary school Certificate Evening! Did either of you think that you had me fooled for a second? One single second?!" he said, raising his voice, which was something he never did to either of his parents, at least not while sober.

"Then that day in Barts… there she was. Why? That was the question and it took me far too long to figure it out." Sherlock turned to his brother. "You knew that Moriarty had honed in on me. He had me on his radar, even then. You thought I'd need someone in my corner and had no idea that I'd meet John Watson a month later. I never confronted you about it because of my own guilt and utter shock of seeing her. But…" Some of his venom died in his next statement. He was tired and so bloody through with his family. "... mostly because... "

He couldn't finish that sentence. He wasn't about to tell them how pleased he'd been to see her. Frustrated, yes. Angry and confused and slightly murderous, indeed. But mostly just so fucking happy. Whatever the reason, she was back and he hadn't even realised how much he had missed her.

Mycroft finished his drink and stood.

"Do you realise how much danger you put her in?" He looked from his brother to his mother. "Either of you?! She's not a Holmes! She doesn't play games with people's lives. All Molly Hooper wanted to do was become a scientist- a successful doctor- lead a simple life. She didn't want..."

"You're wrong, Sherlock," his mother interrupted. "And you know it. Molly is much more complex that." She stepped closer to her son. "We made mistakes, many, many mistakes. But you and that woman were meant for each other and I won't apologise for pushing you two together all these years."

"It was never your place!"

"I'm a mother! I had already lost a daughter. You needed someone, you needed _her_. After what happened with _Victor…_ " Her voice broke slightly at the end, causing Mycroft to take a step toward her. "No. I'm fine." She instantly collected herself, straightening her back and clearing her throat. "I didn't want to lose you too."

"So you chose someone for me?"

" _You_ chose her, Sherlock," she replied with a bitter laugh.

"I did nothing of the sort," he growled but suddenly wondered if that was true. Yes, seeing her that day had made an impact on his life, but if they had never intervened...

"Myc and I manipulated things when we saw your keen interest in the girl. You had never reacted to another person like that before, Sherlock. We saw hope when you talked about her. You lit up. Even talking about how sad she was... it ignited you. It was like you had woken up for the first time since you lost your best friend."

"It's true, Sherlock," Mycroft spoke up. "You were suddenly alive again."

"I didn't even _know_ her yet! She was a child, for God's sake! I've talked to her, heard her perspective and I _still_ don't know what happened that day!"

His mother's face softened, but only a fraction. "Does it matter? Really? Does it matter _why_? You saw something in that sad little girl that changed you. Do I regret hurting you and Myc? Of course I do. And Molly, she's completely innocent in all of this. But…" She paused and for a moment Sherlock thought his stoic mother was going to cry, but as usual, the tears never fell. "...you seemed to care for her, from the beginning, in a way you never even cared for your own family."

He had no response for that because his mother was right. _Obsession_ he had always called it, until one day he replaced the word with _love_. But he had cared about her from the moment he saw her. Cared about her happiness and wellbeing. He cared deeply. Molly Hooper had taught him how to feel before she'd even known his name.

 _Maybe I did choose her._

"I'm not okay with what you two did," he finally said. "Though I'm not surprised."

"Can you forgive us?" Mummy asked.

"Have you forgiven Mycroft for Eurus?" Sherlock countered.

His mother looked at his sibling. "Of course…"

"You haven't, Mother," Sherlock said. "And it's killing him." He walked toward the door. "It's been months, you two need to talk. And Molly and I need some time." He left without looking back.

* * *

 _When he got back home after seeing her for that first time in Reigate, he went straight to his favourite hiding spot. He hadn't been there in years. It was a tree, a maple, perfect for climbing at the edge of their property._

 _He stayed there for over an hour...thinking._

 _What was it about the child, this slip of a girl? Her hair was dull, her eyes too big. She was small for her age. Her mother had been a school teacher and her father was a mechanic. In all likelihood, she wasn't even exceptionally smart. So why did he find her so… fascinating?_

 _He didn't know and Sherlock hated not knowing something, it ate at him, slowly burning him from the inside until his skin itched and his head ached._

 _The answer wasn't to be found in his tree, so he jumped down and made his way to the house. His father wasn't home from work yet, but Mummy was in the kitchen. Unfortunately so was the phone and he needed to get in touch with his brother._

" _Mum?" he said as he entered._

" _Sherlock? Where've you been all day?" she asked, drying her hands on a dishtowel._

" _I found a case."_

" _A good one?"_

" _A six, maybe even a seven," he said, picking up an apple._

" _Tell me about it," she said, taking a seat at the table._

" _I need confirm some things. And phone Myc."_

" _Oh. I see."_

" _Don't patronise me, mum."_

 _She smiled and said, "I'm not, son. Is this one like those missing dogs from last month? That was pretty impressive how you found that testing facility."_

 _It wasn't actually. People had just been ignoring the missing animals until an important women's schnauzer had disappeared. The facility was several towns over, but they'd take any and all dogs, cats and even small livestock, paying twenty quid per animal. It was an easy money if you knew about it, which few did. When he started piecing together the missing dogs with the new found wealth of three or four of the rougher boys he knew by name only, it all made sense._

" _No. It's a murder," he told her._

" _A murder? Here?"_

" _In Reigate. That's where I was."_

" _Reigate…" she said thoughtfully. "I read about a suicide…"_

" _They got it wrong, as they often do," Sherlock said before taking a bite of his fruit._

" _They?"_

 _He couldn't tell if she was mocking him or genuinely intrigued, but for some reason, he wanted to share his deductions. "Mob hit. Only they hit the wrong person."_

" _And what did you find in Reigate?"_

 _He was just about to take another bite, but stopped and said, "A girl."_

" _What about this girl?"_

" _She was... sad." He paused, thinking about Molly and the park. "I've never seen anyone look so miserable. I can't figure out..."_ Anything _, he thought. "She was…"_

" _The daughter?"_

" _Yeah. I can't, mum, I'm just..." He was at a loss for words and unless he_ wanted _to clam up and stonewall his parents, Sherlock was always quite verbose._

 _She stood and looked across the kitchen for a moment before speaking. "It's hard when you lose someone you love, Sherlock."_

 _He nodded, noting the strange look on his mum's face._ Who had she lost? _he wondered. She wasn't exactly an open book, his mother. Sherlock's maternal grandparents were still alive as were all his aunts and uncles. As she moved to the hob and checked the roast he continued to study her._ A friend? An old boyfriend? _She'd clearly lost someone she cared deeply about, he just had no idea who it was..._

" _How old is she?" Mum asked, pulling out of his observations._

" _Eleven."_

" _Poor child." Her façade had slipped back into place. Now she just looked concerned, like any mother would for a child. Whatever had just happened would remain a mystery...for now._

" _Mmm…"_

" _You want to have the case reopened?"_

" _That's why I need to phone Myc. No one will listen to me, I'm just a kid."_

" _Someday, Sherlock, they will." She pushed in her chair. "She was sad, you say?"_

 _He looked up. "Of course, she's just lost her mum."_

" _Yes, but you noticed," she said with an odd look on her face. This time she looked hopeful and… entirely pleasant. He couldn't figure out what had suddenly changed._ Why is she so happy? " _Phone your brother, son. He'll be able to help her."_

Looking around and realised that he was in the front room of 221B. Molly was sitting across from him, a cup of tea in her hand and a book on her lap. "How long?" he asked.

"You got home about forty-five minutes ago and were completely nonverbal. I assumed you were working something out or committing your conversation to your mind palace, so I left you alone," she finished with a shrug.

She really was perfect for him.

"How'd it go?"

"They had their excuses," he said.

"Did your mother admit to it?" Molly asked.

"She didn't really have a choice." He watched her for a moment before saying, "Come over here."

"Where?"

"My lap, you ninny," he said with a smirk.

Molly smiled as she got up. "We do this now, do we?" She sat across his legs, looping her left arm over his shoulders.

"Evidently."

Toby sauntered in out of nowhere and jumped onto Molly's lap. The detective scratched behind the cat's ears. Molly started playing with the hair at the nape of Sherlock's neck since he was on Toby duty for the moment. It was incredibly relaxing. Before long Toby was asleep and Sherlock felt Molly's head rest on his shoulder.

The last twenty-four hours had been draining. He'd gone from ecstatic to terrified to confused, back to ecstatic (and orgasmic, mustn't forget orgasmic!), to livid. Now, he wasn't sure _what_ to feel. Could he really ask Molly to enter a relationship with him after everything she'd - _they'd_ \- learned? It seemed unfair. Their whole acquaintance had been one manipulation after another, and that was putting aside the creepy stalker aspect of it.

He loved her, he knew that much. When did he fall in love with her? He wasn't quite sure. Sherlock didn't believe in love at first sight. He hadn't felt anything akin to attraction to the eleven year old girl when he saw her in the park, just… affection. Yes, he could name it now. He had wanted to reach out to her, comfort her. It was a first for the teenage him and he didn't quite know what to do with it. Some part of him knew he wanted more, however, because he had practically pleaded with his brother for help.

But as screwed up as his life had been was it fair to ask Molly to stay with him and continue on this course for the rest of hers? It likely wouldn't improve. He'd still solve the unsolvable. He'd still have enemies. He'd be fighting addiction for the rest of his life. And, of course, his family was going nowhere.

Molly Hooper deserved stability. She'd lost both of her parents and had no real family of her own. His family, though helping her in their own twisted way, had used her against him for nearly a quarter of a century. Could she ever trust them? _I don't think I can_.

More importantly, where did they go from here? Years of fantasising about a possible future with Molly was one thing, but Sherlock had no practical experience with romance or committed relationships. In all his time dreaming of what _might_ be between the two of them, he'd never imagined the hard times, and there would surely be hard times. He laughed to himself, _as if we haven't already faced obstacles_. That was no real excuse and he knew it.

But was any of this fair to the woman in his arms? He had to be sure.

"Molly," he said softly.

"Hmmm?"

"I don't want you to leave; I want you to live here. But, after everything that's happened, it might be prudent for you to move back home for a while. This has been… unnatural, the way that we came together. They pushed us into this. I changed the course of your life by solving your mother's murder. Who knows what would have happened if I'd not read the newspaper that day…"

Molly sat up, looking him in the eyes. "I love you," she said. "I don't care how we came together, we're here now. It's all… strange, yes, but I don't think that really matters. I've known you for a lot of years, Sherlock, strange things tend to happen around you." She smiled and stroked his hair. "I don't know what my life would have been like if you hadn't seen me in the park that day. We have no way of knowing. What I do know is that you watched out for me- protected me even before I knew you existed. What your family did was shitty. It was intrusive and just plain wrong, but it's done and look at us now."

"You are the most disgustingly positive person I've ever known," he said, pulling her closer and kissing her temple.

"Besides, I can't separate you and Toby. He'd be devastated!" She stroked her cat's back. "And I think you secretly love him."

Sherlock laughed as he thought, _maybe dreams do come true_.

* * *

 _Okay, two more chapters to go. Drop me a line and let me know how you feel about the Mummy situation. Should either of them forgive her? Thanks so much for reading! ~Lil~_


	10. Repairs

_Thank you all for reading and thanks to MizJoely for betaing. This chapter contains sexy times, you've been warned. There will be an epilogue and then we'll put this one to bed._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **Chapter 10 - Repairs -**

 _Oh fuck!_ Sherlock thought as he slowly woke up. Molly Hooper was a morning person and in the last several weeks she had proven to him just how wondrous mornings could be.

Her mouth was on his chest, her wet little tongue licking his nipple, her right hand was wrapped around his erection, slowly working him.

"Good…ahhh, morning," he groaned, his voice rough from disuse.

She looked up and smiled. "Isn't it?"

He was a little surprised that she was in the mood today considering what they had to do later. That didn't mean he was going to stop the beautiful woman who was currently grinding her centre against his thigh.

"Want you," she whispered against his skin.

"Yes, I got that feeling." Looking down he found that she was gloriously naked and all his. "Are you wet?" he asked as he bucked into her hand.

"I woke up that way."

"Your hand's getting stronger."

"Think of this as extra physiotherapy," she said with a wicked grin.

"Anything I can do to help."

"You are a shining example of self-sacrifice."

"I want to touch you," he growled. "Lay down."

Molly finally relinquished her hold on his cock and rolled onto her back. "What time are we meeting them?" she asked as he kissed her neck and she threaded her finger through his hair.

"Ah, 12.30," Sherlock answered, then moved his lips to her breast.

"Oh, God! Do that again!"

Releasing her nipple he said, "What, this?" then lightly bit the tender bud.

" _Mmmm…_ I'm ready! Don't tease!"

He slid his hand down her torso until he reached his favourite place in the entire world. Slowly parting her, he dipped a finger between her folds. "What were you dreaming about to work you into such a state?" he asked when he found the river of fluid waiting for him.

She didn't speak, just arched her hips, looking for more contact.

"Molly, what has you so worked up?" He refused to touch her where she desperately wanted him.

" _Fuck_! It was weird, okay!"

Pulling his hand away, he looked into her eyes. "What do you mean?"

She shook her head. "Fine. We were in the park. _That Park_. And you were shagging me from behind on the picnic table."

"Were you…" He was almost afraid to ask because of the look of embarrassment on her face. "...grown?"

"Yes, of course. But…"

"That's not weird. Public sex is a little kinky, yes, but…" Tears welled up in her eyes and Sherlock reached out to cup her face. "Molly..?"

"Well, then the dream changed and we were… my parents were there."

"I'm assuming we weren't shagging at this point," he said with a smile, trying to cheer her up.

"No! Thank God! We were having dinner at my old house. The one in Reigate. My mum, she looked so young and beautiful, she turned to you and said, 'Thank you for taking care of our girl'."

Sherlock wiped away some of her tears. "Then what happened?"

"You and my dad went out to the garage and worked on an old Triumph."

"Sounds like fun," he lied.

"You have no interest in working on old cars. Don't give me that!" she said with a laugh.

"We're going to be fine today, Molly. Nothing changes because we're having lunch with my family." He kissed her sweetly.

"I wish it were mine," she said when he pulled back. "No offence, but I wish we were going to meet _my_ mum and dad today."

"Frankly, I do too." He kissed her again. "Are you okay? Want some tea?"

She studied him for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I still want you."

"Are you sure? You seem too upset..."

"Well then, shag me until I'm cheerful again," she demanded.

"Hmm… this calls for a special skill set."

"Really? Is it one you happen to have?"

"You're in luck, Miss Hooper." Sherlock straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips. "I know exactly how to cheer you up." Pinning her wrists beside her head, he leaned down. "Where do I start..?"

"Be nice, Sherlock!"

"I'm _always_ nice, Molly!" He kissed the side of her neck gently, teasingly, then moved down to her clavicle, softly nipping at her skin. _Oh, she has no idea what's coming_ … Quickly, he switched the position of her hands, pinning them to her sides rather than near her head and moved his face lower.

" _Sherlock…_ "

He then started 'nomming' her ribs with his mouth. She instantly tried to kick him off, but he was too strong. He used his whole face to tickle her ribs ruthlessly while she squealed and squirmed.

" _Please_!" Giggle. " **No**!" Cackle. " _Okay_! _I'm_ … **cheerful**!" Shriek of laughter. " _I'm… happ_ y!" Then hysterical incomprehensible noises, followed by, " _God, Sherlock_! _I'm gonna_ _ **wee**_ _myself!_ "

He pulled back, studying her as she panted. "I'm not sure… one more thing," he said as he let go of her hands and moved to between her thighs. "I like to be thorough in everything I do."

She tried to jerk her legs together. "No more tickling!"

"Not _that_ kind, at least," he said as he pushed her thighs further apart.

"You know I prefer to have a shower before you do this."

He parted her, taking in her beautiful sex. No matter how many times he saw it, it still made his dick twitch. "And you know that I like it when your pussy tastes like pussy."

"You have such a filthy mouth!"

"That's why I need to clean it on this perfect cunt of yours. Besides, you love it!"

"Maybe a little."

He started at her clit, circling it with his tongue and listening to her moan. _Sing for me, Molly_. Working lower he sucked her inner lips into his mouth, lapping up all those juices she had been making for him all morning. His tongue found her opening while his nose nudged her clit.

"Oh fuck! That feels fucking fantastic!" Molly whispered as she tugged on his hair.

 _Now who has a filthy mouth?_

"I'm close! Don't stop! Oh, God!"

 _Why would I stop before you soaked my face?_ He moved his tongue back to her clit. Keeping the pressure light, he teased her for almost a full minute. He was waiting for a certain sound…

A low grunt followed by a whine came from above him and he knew it was time. He sucked the bundle of nerves into his mouth and listened for the inevitable explosion.

" _Uuunnnggghhh_!"

 _There is it._ He kissed her one more time, bidding her pussy a farewell ( _for now_ ) then crawled up to lay next to her.

She panted and hummed in satisfaction as he cleaned his face with the back of his hand. "You're mouth is… _FUCK_!"

"Is it really?" he asked, a far too proud smile on his face.

"Yes… is it." She turned toward him, pulling him close and sealing her lips against his. "Now will you shag me?"

"Get on your hands and knees. Your dream gave me ideas."

She hopped up and presented him with her beautiful bottom. "Like this?"

"Yes. Will your hand be okay?" he asked, giving himself a few tugs as got into position.

"It's fine. It doesn't hurt."

"You'll tell me if it does?"

"Of course." She peered over her shoulder. "Now are you going to fuck me or just look at my arse and wank?"

"Just making sure you were ready. We've never done it like this before."

"Only because of my injury. Come on! Make with the lovin'!"

She wiggled her bum at him until he grabbed her hips to still her. He then lined himself up and entered her slowly. _Every single time_ , he thought as her wet heat engulfed him. _She always feels magnificent!_

"Ahh, that feels… Mmmm…" Molly said when he pulled out and slid back in, this time quicker, harder.

 _I couldn't agree more_. Again and again, he drove into her, gripping her hips as his balls slapped against wet flesh. Molly, always so vocal during their lovemaking, moaned and groaned, hissed and hummed as he continued, but could already feel that tingle at the base of his spine, that tightness that started in his stomach and reached all the way to his bollocks.

"Are you close?!" he asked in a desperate growl. The new position, evidently, had his libido thinking that he was a teenager again. _Not gonna be my best performance!_

"So fucking close!" She pushed back against him, giving him more resistance and moving perfectly with him. "Right there. Keep doing that!"

 _Whatever the fuck_ that _is!_ Because he had no idea. He wasn't even sure what planet he was on at the moment. He was just need and desire and testosterone and… _fuck_! he wanted to drive a hole right through her!

Just when he thought it was a lost cause, that he'd have to make it up to her in the shower or something, he felt it. Molly's walls started to tremble, constrict and then do this sort of lovely fluttery thing that really defied description. Then they were like a tight fist trying to squeeze the very essence from him.

Her body went rigid, almost perfectly still as she shouted his name and he finally let go. His balls rose up and unleashed themselves into Molly's still rippling sheath. He gripped her hips even tighter - enough to bruise, he found out later - as he called out to her over and over again, praising her, her pussy and several deities of which he had only a passing acquaintance.

Seconds later he withdrew and gracelessly flopped down on the bed.

Molly was lying next to him, a blissed out smile on her face. "Hmm… that was lovely."

He could only nod.

"It will definitely make today more bearable. If I think I'm going to slap your mum or deck your brother, I'll just remember that orgasm and, hopefully, it will still my hand."

Sherlock didn't think that it would have the same effect on _him_ in the future.

* * *

The five of them sat in awkward silence in the private room of the modestly priced restaurant Sherlock had selected. It needed to be somewhere neutral. Neither Baker Street or The Estate would have been acceptable and he wasn't _about_ to let his brother choose the location.

He hadn't seen his mother or brother in nearly four months. His father, however, had visited he and Molly on three occasions. As it turned out, Dad had known very little about Mummy and Mycroft's scheme. Sherlock wasn't surprised; his father didn't have the same devious mind as the rest of them.

His beautiful girl seemed to adore his father (that is after a frank conversation one afternoon in which Molly told _Mr. Holmes_ what she thought of how young Sherlock had been handled), and he couldn't blame her. Father was so like Molly. His dad had always been the antithesis of the Mummy and Mycroft, emotionally speaking; Sherlock falling somewhere in the middle. The verdict was out on his sister, if one could ever be reached.

Sherlock had gone to Sherrinford twice since Molly's accident. Eurus was still nonverbal, but they played their violins and Sherlock spoke to her generalities. He couldn't risk giving her too much information, not knowing when she might snap back into another psychotic episode.

"Well, this is nice," his father said over starters. "All of us together."

"It is," Mummy said with a nervous smile. It looked out of place; his mother didn't _get_ nervous. She was always calm, always in control. "How are you feeling, Molly?" she asked.

"Much better, Mrs. Holmes. I haven't had any side effects from the head injury other than mild headaches and my physio is coming along nicely." She held up her right hand, flexing it, showing off her newly regained strength.

"Oh, that's wonderful," Mummy replied. "And when will you be able to return to work?"

"I've been back at Barts for a month and a half now. Part-time, of course."

"I… I didn't know."

"That's because your son finally pulled my surveillance and detail, at his brother's insistence," Molly explained with a little bite.

"Of course," Mummy said, then took a sip of tea.

After a few more minutes of silence, only interrupted by the clank of silverware and china, Molly spoke again, "I have some things I'd like to say." She looked at the Holmes across from her.

Sherlock put a hand on her thigh and squeezed. This was her show, he was simply there for support.

"I understand why you did what you did; I don't excuse it, but I do understand it." She turned her gaze to his mother. "You were still grieving the loss of your daughter, Mrs. Holmes, I can't even imagine how hard that must have been. So you jumped at the chance to exert some control over Sherlock's life, to keep him in line. God knows how hard it must have been to parent him…" She glanced at him and smiled sweetly. "But it all went too far. Especially when you started changing the course of my life to tempt him away from his habits."

"Have you seen him when he's high, Molly?" Mummy asked and Sherlock wondered where she was going with the query. She was well aware of their history, Mycroft would have seen to it.

"I have. Multiple times."

"We were trying to save him…"

"For a family of geniuses you can all be pretty thick sometimes, you know that!?" Molly snapped.

Mummy recoiled as if she'd been slapped.

"You can't _force_ someone to get clean, Mrs. Holmes. You can't manipulate them into saving themselves. It has to be their decision. Sherlock scares me to death when he using. I absolutely hate it. But I love _him_ and nothing will change that."

"Do you not think that we tried other methods?" his mother asked tersely.

"I assume you tried many things but your go-to move is to deceive, to plot and plan. When he needed your support and your love you were paying for my summer camps. When he needed someone to talk to, to actually pay attention to him and his illness, you were influencing my instructors." She leaned ever so slightly closer to his mother, anger etching her lovely features. "And while we're on the topic, you are _very_ lucky that I'm secure in my academic abilities. I _know_ I earned every grade I ever got because I studied my arse off, _not_ because the Great Holmes Family wanted me to succeed."

Sherlock moved his hand to her back and gently rubbed.

"We made mistakes," Mummy said, inclining her head. "I'm not denying that, but we tried to make your life better, Molly. We tried…"

"Please don't insult me, Mrs. Holmes."

"I _do_ care about you. I'm sure you don't believe that right now, but I do. How could I not?" She looked at Sherlock then back to Molly. "You saved him so many times."

" _Plasters_ ," Molly whispered.

"Excuse me?"

At that moment two waiters entered the room, carrying their entries. After the meals were placed and the waiters had left, Molly looked at his mother.

"All you did was put plasters on a gaping wound." She looked at Mycroft. "And you, you poor man," she said causing his brother's face to fall. "They put so much pressure on you. _Hide your little sister, Mycroft! Control your little brother, Mycroft!_ Were you _ever_ a child?"

He didn't answer, just averted his eyes. _My God, she's brilliant._ His brother could handle recrimination, reprisal but Molly's _pity?_ Sherlock could see how deeply it affected him. _She handles them better than I ever did._

Molly turned her attention back to the Holmes matriarch. "If Sherlock stays clean it will _not_ be because I am in his life. It will be because of himself. His strength. His determination. If he uses again, well, then I'll be there for him and he knows that. I won't make bargains with him or give him ultimatums. He and I have talked, _at length_ , about what I will and will not tolerate. He's flawed, of that I am aware, but he comes by it honestly." She picked up her teacup and took a drink. "You got your way, Mrs. Holmes. I'm in your son's life and I'm not going anywhere, but I won't be used or manipulated anymore and I won't allow you to hurt the man I love either. Even if you think it's for his own good."

Oh, his Molly was a fierce warrior. She was all kittens and cocoa one minute and claws and venom the next. Her strength was carefully hidden beneath a layer of sunny smiles and cozy jumpers, but once unleashed… well, you better be holding onto something.

"I've said my piece and I don't plan on rehashing it every time we see each other. I haven't gotten over what you did. I have forgiven you, though. Trust, however, is another thing entirely. It must be earned." She picked up her utensils. "Now, I'm hungry and this salad looks delicious." Then she started to eat.

Just like that, she put it to bed.

The rest of the party followed her lead, except for Sherlock; he stared at her in awe for several minutes. She seemed lighter, somehow. He had been quite concerned that this confrontation would rattle her nerves, but it seemed that the opposite had happened. Molly had indeed said her piece and was ready to move on.

"Are you going to eat your fish?" she asked him.

"Yes," he answered. "You want to try it, don't you?"

Molly nodded, so he cut off a bite and fed it to her. "Mmm…" she hummed. "It's good. Have some."

"I'll just wait a moment to see if you survive," he said with a grin.

"So I'm your official food tester now?"

"Careful, Molly," his father chided. "That's a full-time job."

"I haven't had a death threat in months, I'll have you know," Sherlock said before finally starting to eat.

Lunch continued, slightly less uncomfortable than before Molly's speech. Sherlock's father made a few horrible jokes. Molly laughed riotously. Mummy finally relaxed while they had pudding and coffee. Mycroft never did (though he did enjoy a large slice of cake).

Whilst Father took care of the bill, Mummy asked Molly to walk her to the car. She nodded and kissed Sherlock on the cheek. The men loitered in the entryway, watching the two women speak.

"What's that all about?" Mycroft asked.

"She's begging for forgiveness," Father said as he watched his wife.

"Impossible!" both Mycroft and Sherlock said at the same time.

Mr. Holmes laughed. "Not at all. She's apologised to me on many occasions." The younger men just gaped at their father. "If you mention it to her she'll deny it, of course."

The three of them turned their attention back to the women on the pavement. As if he hadn't been shocked enough for one afternoon, Sherlock watched a tear fall down his mother's cheek. He studied her closely to make sure she wasn't acting. If she tried to feign tears to garner sympathy from Molly, he'd… _Oh my God. She's actually crying_. Molly hugged the other woman, tightly. Mummy stiffened, then wrapped her arms around Molly's back.

"I can't believe it..." Mycroft whispered.

"If I hadn't seen it…" Sherlock started.

"She's not a monster, boys," their father said. "She loves us all fiercely. But she protects herself. I think you two know all about the building of walls." He smiled. "They _can_ be torn down, though. There are always weak spots." He turned back and they all watched as Molly held Mummy's hand, talking to her, smiling and nodding. "You're looking at one of them," he added.

"Molly?" Sherlock questioned.

"Oh yes. Vi is enamored with your girl, Sherlock, always has been."

"But…"

"You know what they say about who we hurt the most," he said before opening the door and walking out to join his wife.

Mycroft and Sherlock continued to watch their parents and Molly chat.

"How often?" Sherlock asked after a few minutes.

"You haven't asked her yet?"

"No, and she never offered. I think she actually feels guilty."

The older man turned and faced his brother. "It started while you were away, happened maybe five or six times. Mummy asked me to arrange a meeting. So I did."

Sherlock listened, never taking his eyes off of the scene in front of the restaurant.

"I didn't think it would hurt anything, they both missed you so much. I was surprised when she asked me to keep it going after you returned. They meet, I'd say, twice a year or so, sometimes more."

"Molly is one hell of a secret keeper," Sherlock said. "I had no idea."

Mycroft laughed. "You don't know the half of it. Mummy constantly tried to pry information out of her. It never worked, evidently."

Sherlock smirked. _Of course it didn't_.

"The day of the accident was to be their first meeting since Sherrinford. Mummy's been… hiding."

"I know."

"Though irrational, I think she blames herself for Molly's injuries," Mycroft said.

 _Mummy irrational? That's an oxymoron._

His brother sighed. "She hasn't forgiven me."

"She will."

"How do you know?"

After several minutes of silence, Sherlock said, "She tried to replace our sister with my lover. She encouraged a teenage boy's obsession with a motherless girl because she was sad and missed her own child. She forced you to use your position within the government to help manipulate me and Molly, thus changing the course of our lives."

"That she did, brother mine."

"Our family's fucked up."

"Indeed."

"That's how I know she'll forgive you, Myc. She's actually done worse than you." When Sherlock looked at his brother, Mycroft was smiling. It was a good look on him. "Come on, my Molly needs rescuing."

They walked out the door together.

* * *

 _Okay, so we finally know where Molly was going. Sorry to make you wait so long. I'll post the epilogue in a day or so. Please let me know how you feel about Molly's handling of the Holmes'. Thanks so much for reading. ~Lil~_


	11. Epilogue

_Well, would you look at that: a finished story. I am very sorry to see it end, but it must. Thank you all for reading (and following, favouriting and reviewing). And, of course, I must thank MizJoely for her unending support and assistance._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

* * *

 **\- Epilogue -**

Sherlock watched Molly place the flowers on the ground then take a step back. Leaning up against a tree, he settled in, knowing he'd be there for a little while, at least. She had something to tell her parents...

"Hi, mum. Hi, dad. So, big news... I'm pregnant! Yay! We only started trying two months ago and boom!" She giggled. "Let me tell you, when Sherlock Holmes puts his mind to something, he gets it done!"

 _I most certainly do._

"I'm only five weeks along and he's already working on the nursery. I told him we should wait until we find out the sex, but he doesn't listen! Anyway, work's going well." She flexed her right hand. "I'm at about eighty-five percent with my hand. That's as good as it will ever get. But I'm practically ambidextrous now, so that's good."

 _That in and of itself is miraculous._ She had worked her arse off to get her hand to that condition.

"John and Rosie are amazing. I fixed John up with one of my friends from work, an endocrinologist. It didn't work out. Though she did tell him he needed to get his thyroid checked, so, glass half full..."

 _He may never date again after that pushy woman. And his thyroid was fine!_

"Toby's wonderful, spoilt, but wonderful. The other day he…"

 _God help us!_ Once she started talking about that damn cat Sherlock knew he was in for one of _those_ visits. He tuned her out. He'd heard all about the wayward feline's misadventures, had been present for many of them himself.

It had been just over a year since her accident. Twenty-six years since his first trip to Reigate and here he was again… watching Molly from afar. Not too far this time though. Also, she wasn't Molly _Hooper_ anymore. No. She'd taken his name.

There stood Molly Malvolia Holmes, his wife.

 _Wife_.

They'd been married for more than six months and some days he still couldn't believe it. He should probably work on believing it, though, he did knock her up recently. He chuckled to himself. _Well done, Holmes_.

He had proposed upon returning to Baker Street after that first family lunch. She had been magnificent in her defense of him and her defiance of his family. She was strong, she was brilliant and she was his! The ring that had been burning a hole in his pocket for more than a month refused to stay put any longer. When he sat her on the sofa and took her hand in his, though he felt like he might be sick then and there, he knew it was right.

She said yes and they celebrated by making love on the floor of the front room… and in the hall. Then again in the shower, as they attempted to clean up from the first two rounds. By the time they made it to bed that night they were both giddy and exhausted. Sherlock had never slept better in his life.

Molly, his kind and ever gracious Molly had _offered_ \- not given in, not been cajoled, but _offered_ to let his parents host the wedding at their home in Henley-on-Thames. It had been a small affair, twenty-three guests including the his parents and Mycroft', Mike Stamford and his wife, Lestrade and his girl du jour, Angelo and his partner, Mrs. Hudson, Wanda the nurse (who did have a last name, he just had a hard time remembering it) and a few odd people from St. Barts that Sherlock could barely manage to notice. John stood up for him and Meena flew in from Scotland for Molly. Rosie was, in Sherlock's opinion, the most beautiful flower girl who ever walked an aisle.

No one gave Molly away. She said if she couldn't have her dad, she'd go it on her own, that no one could replace him.

She had looked like an actual angel in her cream and white dress, her hair cascading down her back like a bloody goddess. Yes, Sherlock could be very poetic when thinking about his lovely wife, and on that day she had looked ethereal.

Much of the day was a blur except for Molly. Molly smiling brightly at him. Molly laughing with John. Molly dancing with Rosie, with Mike, even with his brother. She ate two pieces of cake and she sang along with the horrid music she had picked out. Sherlock watched her, soaking it all in. He had spent so many years watching her and it was just the beginning.

The day had been absolutely perfect, but the night… well, this wasn't the time or the place to reminisce about their wedding night.

"... then I told him. 'If you can't play _nice_ with Rosie then you shouldn't play with her at all!' Mean old cat!"

 _Bloody hell, we're still on the cat_.

She and Mycroft had developed a strange relationship. Molly was oddly protective of his older brother, though he suspected that she had given him a proper scolding, in private, of course. He knew that they had tea at least twice a month. What they talked about he had no idea, and frankly didn't want to. Myc was most likely spilling state secrets right and left knowing that his sister in law was more secure than the Tower of London. Mycroft seemed… well, happy would be too strong a word, but perhaps content. Similar to how he looked just after eating a large piece of cake or invading a small Principality. Mummy had, apparently, forgiven him just as Sherlock had predicted.

Things were much the same with Eurus. She still didn't speak; no one knew if she ever would. He still visited when he could. His time was limited these days, though.

Mummy… Mummy was coming 'round. Guilt is a funny thing. It didn't hit her right away. Oh, she might have cried when she spoke with Molly after their family dinner, but it took a while longer for the reality of her actions to really hit her where her youngest son was concerned.

 _He and John were in his old room, waiting for the ceremony to start. It was oddly unchanged. It gave Sherlock the creeps._

" _So, this is where it all began, is it?" John asked while Sherlock sat on the small bed and typed on his mobile._

" _Mmhmm."_

" _You really won all these awards?" he asked, standing in front of a wall full of ribbons, medals and certificates._

" _No, John. If you ask them really nicely they'll just give them to you."_

 _His friend turned and looked at him. "You're even a tit on your wedding day."_

" _Especially on my wedding day. Today is all about me, remember?"_

" _Molly! It's all about Molly!" John shook his head. "Every other day of the year is about you… you arse," he mumbled under his breath._

 _Sherlock smirked as he finished his (dirty) message to his wife-to-be and hit send. Just then there was a knock on the door. His best man answered it._

" _John. Is my son decent?" Mummy asked in a clipped tone._

" _No, but he is dressed and frankly driving me a little nuts." He stepped back, letting her into the room. "How can he be this calm?"_

 _Sherlock pocketed his mobile. "I swear I'm nervous on the inside, John."_

" _Somehow I don't believe that. I'll leave you to it. I assume you're giving him The Talk, Vi?"_

" _I'm afraid that ship sailed long ago, Doctor. Besides, I had Myc take care of that," his mother said._

" _That explains so much," John said as he left._

 _Mummy sat down at his rolltop desk, giving him an appraising look. "You really aren't nervous, are you?"_

" _Not in the least. Why would I be?"_

" _Because it's your wedding day, Sherlock. Most people are. I was."_

 _She was stalling; she wasn't there to talk about wedding day jitters, and he knew it. But he decided to play along. "I'm not nervous, Mother, because asking Molly to be my wife was the hard part. No, scratch that. Nothing was harder than thinking she might die... then telling her the truth. Everything else has been incredibly easy in comparison. But today? No, I'm perfectly calm about this. As a matter of fact, I can't wait."_

 _Mummy nodded and fiddled with the embroidered handkerchief in her hands. "Well," she said as she stood. "I suppose… I just... " She started for the door, then stopped. "I never said that I was sorry."_

 _He rolled his eyes, glad that she couldn't see him._ So melodramatic.

 _She turned and he could actually see the sincerity in her eyes. "I am, you know. Sorry. I didn't know what to do with you. And after losing Eurus- thinking we had lost her… You were such an emotional child, until you weren't. One day you just shut down. And you were gone, Sherlock. Emotionally untouchable." She laughed, wiping the corner of her eye. "Yes, just like your mum. But, that day you came back from Reigate you were so… alive again. It was like I had my little boy back." She paused before adding, "Then I met her."_

" _You what?"_

" _I know. It was wrong of me, but I had to. She doesn't remember. I've asked."_

 _She swallowed and tried to compose herself. Sherlock had never in his whole life seen her so emotional. He assumed that the time surrounding Victor's death and his sister's institutionalisation had been very difficult for his mother, but his memories were limited at best. Mummy wasn't among what he had retrieved._

" _I went to their shop one day. I just wanted to see this girl who had made such a difference in my son." Tears were suddenly running down her cheeks and she whispered, "And I understood when I saw her. I saw it too. I can't name it anymore than you can but I saw it- still see it."_

 _He rose from the bed and crossed the room to stand in front of her._

" _I'm sorry, Sherlock. I was desperate and afraid and she seemed like salvation."_

 _Sherlock nodded; he understood. Molly was his salvation in many ways._

" _You should know that I love her," she said. "I love her like she's my own."_

 _It made sense, everything._

" _And I love you. And I'm proud of you, of what you've accomplished." She waved her hand at his wall of awards. "Not all that, but fighting your demons and winning. Fighting for Molly, even though we didn't make it easy. I am proud."_

" _I know, Mummy."_

" _Do you?"_

" _Of course," he said as he reached for her, pulling her close and holding her against his chest._

" _Oh! I'll crush your boutonniere!"_

" _It's fine, mum, it's fine."_

Sherlock pulled himself out of the memory just in time to hear his wife say, "... and then he took me on a romantic picnic. We had strawberries and sparkling water…"

"Hey!" he interrupted as he walked forward. "You were talking about your damn cat and I…"

"Tuned me out?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Ahh…"

A knowing smirk formed on her lips. "You do that whenever I talk about _our_ cat. So if I want some privacy with my mum and dad, or anyone else for that matter, I start chatting about Tobes then move onto the more interesting bits."

 _Blasted woman!_ "You realise that you just gave yourself away, don't you?"

She walked over to him and kissed his cheek. "Oh, my love, you have so many more 'zoning out triggers', I'll never run out," she said with a wink.

"Are we finished?" he asked as he followed, taking her hand to help her along the uneven ground.

"Yes. It was a nice visit."

She seemed happy- truly happy. Most trips back to her hometown left Molly depressed and distant, at least for a couple of days.

"Anywhere else you want to go before we leave town?"

Molly stopped and smiled up at him brightly. "No, I'm good. Take me home, Sherlock."

 _Home_ , he thought as he tightened his hand around hers. "Yes, yes, let's go home."

* * *

 _Tears! Please... please give me your final thoughts. I'm dying to hear if this one was a success or not. Thank you all. ~Lil~_


End file.
